


A Flight of Angels

by rubygirl29



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Mid-Credits Scene, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, M/M, Tears, so many tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:52:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6867238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fix-it for the mid-credits scene because there weren't enough hugs. Or declarations of undying love, or Steve and T'Challa. Or what happened to Team Cap once he broke them out of prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to do this. It is totally shameless indulgence because I needed a good cry in the best way over Steve and Bucky's farewell. And a compulsive need to answer questions that the Russos may choose to show us (or not) before Infinity Wars.

It has been two days since T'Challa flew Steve and Bucky to Wakanda, most of which Steve has spent sitting at Bucky's side. The Wakandan doctors have given him a sedative to allow him to sleep and heal. They offered the same to Steve, but he had turned it down. They bring him meals, which he eats because he has to fuel his own healing, and drinks the high calorie nutritional ("milkshakes" for lack of a better word) that will make up for the calories he can't force down his throat. 

Bucky isn't the only patient in the facility, but Steve is acutely aware that the nurses approach Bucky cautiously, that they might be relieved that Steve is there even though Bucky is sleeping heavily. One of them holds a basin and a warm cloth out to Steve. He takes the cloth and gently cleans Bucky's face. There are still dark bruises and torn skin on his jaw and throat, and a burn mark from Tony's gauntlet along his neck. He doesn't look like the most lethal assassin of the 20th century. He looks like a young man who has been beaten up and left for dead. The Wakandan doctors are among the most advanced in the world. He couldn't be in better hands, but they can't guarantee that Bucky will heal, because to recover from such devastating injuries, the patient must _want_ to live. Steve isn't all that sure that Bucky has that desire. It's a frightening and painful thought. Steve kisses Bucky's lax hand. "You have to live, Buck. There's so much I want to say … so many things I want to tell you. Please, don't leave me alone."

"Do you believe he can hear you?"

Steve startles at the sound of T'Challa's voice. He lays Bucky's hand down on the covers, and turns to their host. "I hope he can."

"We will keep him sedated for a few more days. Then when he wakes, we will assess his physical and emotional health."

"You mean to see if he wakes up as Bucky or as the _Soldat_? Steve asks bitterly.

"Captain, you are asking me a question I cannot answer. My father would say you are borrowing trouble. "Come, you too, must rest if you are to help him." His hand is firm on Steve's shoulder, and that alone makes his throat ache with tears. He nods, and, not caring of T'Challa will be scandalized, he kisses Bucky's forehead. "You'll be okay, Buck."

T'Challa's grip firms. "He means the world to you, Captain."

Steve nods. "We grew up together, were boys together. I was sick so much, sometimes I nearly died, but whenever I came to, Bucky was there. Then later, we went to war together. He was always at my side, watching my back. Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky." 

"He will be safe here, Captain Rogers."

"I believe you, your Highness."

"T'Challa, please. You are a guest of my house."

"Steve — " He holds out his hand and T'Challa takes it in a firm grip. 

"Steven." It's a gentle correction and his smile is warm. "Now, Steven. You must rest."

He is led to a room overlooking the Wakandan jungle. It is a country of wonders. A place Steve would love to explore and study. He hadn't expected such kindness for himself, or for Bucky. He believes that T'Challa is a man of his word and Bucky will be safe here. Steve dresses in the soft Wakandan sleeping attire laid out on the bed and falls face down into the pillows. For the first time in the last, long painful days, he sleeps. 

Twenty four hours later, mostly healed and vastly more rested, he leaves Wakanda. There is something he has to do, debts he has to pay. T'Challa promises that he will contact Steve if there is a change in Bucky's condition and loans a chopper that is so high-tech that Tony would have drooled over it. Steve veers away from that thought. The wounds are too painful, the bruises on his heart are too deep. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
The Raft may be the most secure prison in the world, but they're complacent. Ross is over-confident in the security systems and he's taken his eye off Steve. Steve may not have the shield, but he's a formidable enough fighter on his own. Armed with a few Wakandan gadgets, he frees his team. Natasha, not surprisingly, has escaped arrest, despite having helped them make a getaway at the airport. She sent him a list of former SHIELD safe-houses, including one in West Virginia, which is so deep in the Appalachians that it might as well have an electromagnetic field around it. He flies the team there. 

The house looks like a tarpaper shack on the outside, but once they go down a ladder that apparently leads to a root cellar, they find themselves in an expansive underground shelter; comfortable, if not luxuriously furnished and with a well-stocked pantry. "What is this place?" Wanda asks suspiciously. "How did you find it?"

"Natasha?" Clint guesses. "She keeps in touch with some old SHIELD agents. She knows things."

"You trust her?"

Clint, Steve, and Sam say, "Yes," at the same time. And grin at each other. 

Wanda still looks spooked. "How long do we have to stay here?"

Steve takes a deep breath. "There's a lot of pressure on Ross to pardon all of the Avengers due to Zemo's manipulations behind the attacks. And once Tony revealed how much of his personal fortune he's given to the families of those who died — which Ross conveniently forgot to mention when he drafted the accords — plus the role of the former WSC in the near nuclear bombing of New York — he's in some deep shit."

"Oh-oh, Cap swore. The world is ending," Sam tries to lighten the mood, but it doesn't quite make them smile. "So, we hang out here and then?"

"Go back to the lives you had before everything."

"How long?" Scott asks. "I miss my little girl."

"I don't know," Steve admits, feeling like he's failed somehow. "A week? Possibly less. Natasha will let you know."

"Whoa, buddy. What about you. Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you," he admits. "I'm sorry. But as soon as I get the all clear, I'll be back, too."

"Where will I go?" Wanda asks. "I'm not like you. I don't know anything but the Avengers." She looks fragile, alone. Clint puts his arm around her. "Come home with me. Iowa ain't so bad." 

This is harder than Steve had anticipated. His plans had never included saying goodbye. "I owe you all so much … you're the closest thing I have to a family." He dashes away tears with the back of his hand. "I'll see you around. Stay safe until you hear from Natasha … then … if you want to go back to being an Avenger, well, I can't think of a better thing to do."

He turns and climbs up the ladder and out the door. The stars overhead are almost too overwhelming; the absence of light pollution making them seem close enough to touch. He knows Sam is right behind him, and he waits until the warmth of Sam's shoulder brushes his.

"You didn't say anything about Barnes."

"He's alive. He's safe." 

"You okay?"

Steve shakes his head. "I don't know, Sam. I think I will be, though. I'm not going to hide forever."

"It kind of feels like it." Sam sighs. "You be safe. If you can, find a way to tell me you're okay."

"I can do that." 

Sam wraps him in his arms, "Take care of yourself and your boy."

"I'll do my best." He takes a deep breath. "You too, Sam." He returns the hug, brief and hard, before he crosses the clearing to the chopper.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Wakanda is beautiful, peaceful. After landing, Steve is taken to T'Challa's office. He's wearing a western suit, not Wakandan garb. He greets Steve warmly, pours him a cup of fragrant tea. "Please, join me?"

Steve swallows hard. "What is this, T'Challa? Is Bucky —"

"Sergeant Barnes is well, Steven. He is awake and healing. He has been waiting for you."

"So, he can get out of the hospital?"

T'Challa doesn't give him a direct answer. "Come, we will see him together." Steve senses there is something T'Challa isn't telling him, which is unsettling and sends adrenaline coursing through his body. They stop in front of a set of doors which open as they approach. 

The room is simply furnished with an elegance that speaks of wealth and ease. Bucky is sitting in a chair, gazing out the floor to ceilng window at the Wakandan landscape. He's wearing a a soft warm robe. He looks … He looks fragile. With his heart pounding in his chest, Steve crosses to the chair and kneels, looking up at Bucky. "Hey."

"Hey, Steve." He smiles. "Nice digs, huh?"

"Nothing but the best. You look a lot better," Steve says. He brushes his fingers through Bucky's thick, silky hair. "How do you feel?"

"Peaceful. I don't remember feeling like this, ever. I don't remember being warm and eating food this good. I don't remember feeling this clean. I can sleep here, Stevie." He looks at Steve, so young, so … so sad? 

A wash of dread rushes over Steve.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "What are you not telling me?"

There is a long silence while Bucky seems to physically gather his strength. "I've been thinking, Stevie. A lot. I asked T'Challa if there was a place where I won't hurt anybody ever again. Where a few random words won't turn me into that monster HYDRA put in my brain. He said, at this moment, there isn't. That scares me. That somebody, anybody, can use those words and tear me apart, set me unhindered on this world — I'd put a bullet in my brain right now —"

"No!" Steve can feel the blood drain from his face. "Stop it, Buck. Just stop."

"Stevie," Bucky rests his hand on Steve's cheek. "I don't belong in this clean, white place. I'm a weapon. A damaged, remorseless weapon, and I can't let myself loose anywhere in this world until those words are out of my brain." 

"I'll keep you safe," Steve says. 

"I know you would try. But even like I am now, I could kill you. When I'm the soldier, I fight with broken bones, with blood pouring out of me, with ruptured organs. I don't stop. I can't. If I hurt you, if I killed you, I'd be nothing. I'd have nothing."

"You sound like you want to kill yourself," Steve says low and hurt.

"No. Ah, Stevie, no. The doctors here, they're the best. They can heal things nobody else can. They can put me to sleep, keep me in stasis while they try to find a way to get those words out of my brain. I'll be fine. I won't age. And I trust them to be a lot kinder than those HYDRA bastards ever were."

"No!" The idea of being put back in the ice is horrifying, nauseating. "Don't do this, Buck. Please!"

"I gotta, Steve. I gotta do this. I love you, an' I want to love being alive with you. It ain't gonna happen unless I do this." He draws Steve close and finally, after so long … a lifetime for most people … he kisses Steve.

Bucky tastes like tears, like sweetness, like the herbal tea he had been drinking. He tastes like life. Steve can't be strong, he can't be stoic. He can't be Captain America. He's just Steve Rogers, saying goodbye to the love of his life, his constant, his _everything_. The tears pour out of him while Bucky holds him with his one arm and Steve weeps into his shoulder as the Wakandan sun sets. 

When Steve is finally cried out, when he can't muster any more tears, and his throat is sore and raw, he manages to stand on wobbly knees. He stumbles over to a small table and pours two glasses of water, bringing one to Bucky and drinking his own down in huge, thirsty gulps. 

Bucky looks pale, ghostly in his white robe. He rises and stands at the window. "Stay with me tonight?" he asks.

"You didn't have to ask." They walk slowly over to the bedroom. The bed is wide and white and the window lets in the mild Wakandan night. it smells like flowers and foliage. It smells like new and burgeoning life. Steve helps Bucky out of his robe. The torn metal remnants of his arm have been trimmed and covered with a soft padding. His body is muscled and hard, with scars that Steve doesn't even want to think of how they got there. He pulls back the covers and helps Bucky lie down. He's being as gentle as he can be, and even though Bucky isn't fragile, he lets Steve treat him like he's something infinitely precious. "You gonna come to bed or just stand there? Bucky's smiles up and him. 

"I'm going to take a shower," Steve whispers.

Bucky laughs. "You don't have to whisper. We ain't in church." 

He sounds so much like Brooklyn that the word is out of Steve's mouth before he can stop it. "Jerk." He's horrified, but Bucky just laughs out loud. The sound is so happy, so _normal_.

"Go take a shower, punk." 

If his heart didn't hurt so much, he would have said the shower was close to a religious experience, as it is, it's soothing and takes the pain in his exhausted muscles away. When he returns to the bedroom, Bucky is watching him with drowsy eyes. He pulls the cover back and Steve slides in next to him, gathering him close. 

Bucky is silent for a long while before he murmurs, "Tell me about Brooklyn, Stevie. I wanna know it all."

Steve talks, his voice low and soothing as he can make it. He savors the weight of Bucky on his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, the scent of his freshly washed hair. He will take every moment of this night, every second, every feeling, every tear and cherish it until he can once again have Bucky in his life. "I'll be there when you wake up, if it's a hundred years from now," he whispers. "This I promise as long as we both shall live." 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
The nurses come early the next morning to take them back to the hospital wing. Bucky is subdued, but he seems at peace with his decision. Steve stays close, emotions spent, but he has to ask one more time if Bucky is sure about this, because it is an unfathomable sacrifice; to give up _everything_. That was Bucky's heart, his soul. It's what he's always been. Steve, who has spent enough of his life sacrificing for others, wants nothing more than to beg Bucky not to do this, not to leave him again. But to beg would be denying Bucky his redemption, and Steve can bear being lonely for however long it takes. Bucky's smile is tremulous. "I'm sure. Until they get those memories out of my head, I have to do this." 

The doctor gently strap Bucky to a soft mattress. It's nothing like what HYDRA had done, even the restraints look like they'd break away at the slightest tug, though Steve is sure they won't. He steels his heart. "I'm with you to the end of the line." He gives Bucky's hand a surreptitious squeeze. Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. The clear cover slides closed and a mist rises like the morning fog of Wakanda. The last image Steve has of Bucky is that of a sleeping prince. He touches the glass gently. "And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." He stays there, his hand on the glass like a benediction while tears pour down his cheeks.

T'Challa touches his arm. "Now cracks a noble heart. Come, Steven. He is well-guarded and safe. It is time for you to return to the world."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve returns to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally planned as a 2 chapter fic. The muse has ramped up and now I think it will be 3 chapters(?) It's still a fix-it, still will have a happy ending, because Bucky deserves more than plums to make him happy.

Even after the renegade Avengers, including himself, received Presidential pardons, the thought of returning to Brooklyn without Bucky keeps Steve away. He isn't ready to go back to familiar streets, to his brownstone, to the bustle and traffic of New York. Instead, he asks T'Challa to fly him to London where he retrieves his ordinary vanilla citizen passport from the lock box Natasha had procured for him. He buys new clothes — nothing too expensive or too well-tailored, and a pair of brown leather hiking boots. He grows a neatly trimmed beard, and lets his hair grow to his collar in back, slicking it off his forehead in the front, and using a store-brought temporary color to darken his telltale blond hair. For two weeks, he hikes around England, finding the village where Peggy grew up, visiting the old airfields, leaving flowers on the graves of WWII soldiers in quaint cemeteries. He visits with old military pensioners at their village halls and buys them rounds at pubs. He feels more at home with them than with people his own physical age. When they ask him how he knows so much about the war, he smiles and tells them that he's writing a book. 

One old codger says, "You should talk to Monty Falsworth. He's got a few stories to tell."

Steve nearly drops his glass of beer. "He's alive?"

"How'd you know about old Monty?"

"He was one of my granddad's heroes. He met him once after the war." The lie is glib, practiced, and wholly transparent. The old pensioner seems to know it, but accepts it nonetheless. 

"He's too tough to die. Old Nick'd spit him out for shoe leather. You got a pen?"

Steve always has a pen and notebook with him. He writes down the directions and phone number, buys another round and retires to his hotel. Monty, still alive? It seems impossible. The next morning, he calls the number. A woman answers. which throws Steve off for a second. "Is this the home of Montgomery Falsworth?"

"It is."

"My name is Grant Rogers. I met Robert Ainsley at the pub last night. I'm writing a book about the World War Two soldiers who are still with us. I was wondering if I could speak to him?" There is a moment of silence. "Bring your identification. You're not a journalist? We have some exceedingly rude visitors from the press after Miss Carter passed away."

"No, definitely not a journalist. More of an historian." 

"Well, he's very old … and he tires easily, but his mind is sharp. If you come before he has his lunch he should be alert enough for visitors. What is your name again?"

"Grant. Grant Rogers. I'll be there before eleven. Thank you for allowing me to see him, Miss —"

"Mrs. Wagner. Elizabeth Wagner. I'm his great-niece."

Steve finds himself standing in front of a neat stone cottage with roses spilling over the doorframe. Elizabeth Wagner is in her late forties, neat and smiling when she opens the door. "You're Grant, I take it?"

"Yes, is he up for a visit?"

"He's rather looking forward to it. Come with me." Steve follows her out to an enclosed garden where a tiny, impossibly frail old man is sitting. He's wearing an ascot at his neck and a jaunty beret, and Steve's heart is in his throat as he bends down to greet his old friend and comrade.

"Sir, thank you for seeing me."

The blue eyes are faded but sharp. He draws in a breath. "Captain Rogers?"

Steve's first reaction is denial, but that wouldn't be fair. "Yes, it's me, Monty. Here I thought I was incognito."

"Ah, I'd know you anywhere, lad. I've followed Captain America ever since they raised you from the ice."

"I'm flattered, but I'm not that man anymore."

"Hmph, I followed that sorry business, too. Don't worry, I'll take that secret to my grave, since you're trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I'm sorry about Peggy. She was a grand girl, wasn't she?"

"The best. I saw her often in Washington, DC. She always remembered you."

He smiles at that, and they talk about their old comrades, gone now, and Peggy, and life in wartime London. The old man starts drifting after an hour and Steve gets up to leave. Monty rouses and grabs his arm. "Is it true, about Sergeant Barnes? That those HYDRA bastards turned him into something evil? Don't believe it. That boy didn't have a bad bone in his body."

"He still doesn't," Steve says softly. "I'll tell him I saw you. He'll be glad to know you spoke kindly of him."

"Live your life, Steven. You've got more than a few good years yet."

"I will, Monty. Thank you for seeing me."

"I'll be seeing the others before too long. I'll give them your regards, Cap." He salutes, and Steve returns it, standing straight and tall, grateful that in this man's eyes, he's still Captain America.

The next day, he catches a flight to New York.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
He meets Sam at an out of the way diner in Brownsville. It's a working man's place, unpretentious and probably hasn't been renovated since the fifties. Sam slides into the booth with a sidelong look at the crowd sitting at the counter. "Starbucks too high-faulting for you, now?"

"Too public," Steve smiles. "This is more like home."

"You know you don't have to hide out. They did pardon you."

"I'm not Cap anymore, Sam. I'm just plain old Steve Rogers."

"You keep tellin' yourself that, my man. There's a shield that says differently."

Steve can't help it, he asks, "Does Stark have it on display like a trophy over his mantel?"

"Whoa, that's a whole lotta bitter, there. And no, I don't know where he put it. I only know it would be a cold day in Hell before he hands it over to the government. His father left it to him, not to Ross or any of his compadres."

Steve just sighs. "I'm glad it's safe. Maybe you should ask Tony for it. You'd be a great Captain America. I mean that, Sam. You should think about it."

"I'm flattered but, no. Maybe someday, but I have a feeling that the shield is made for your hands, not mine. I'll leave it where it is for now."

A waitress comes to take their order. Steve may not be Cap anymore, but he's still got to keep his body in shape. He doesn't stint on his order, and Sam just laughs when the waitress walks away, giving Steve a backwards glance of amazement. "Careful, there. You won't be incognito for long if you keep eating like that."

"I'm not _incognito._ "

"Then why the beard and the hair? Seriously, Steve. Who do you think you're fooling?"

Steve doesn't answer that. "So, what are you doing when you aren't avenging?"

"There's been kind of a lull in that business. I'm just working at the local VA. I'm done with DC. Got a nice place subsidized by Stark, who seems to think I'm his friend."

"Are you?" 

"If you define friendship as not actively trying to kill each other, then yeah, maybe we are. I think he kinda misses you."

"I miss him, too. Just don't let him know that. I'm not quite ready to make nice, but I guess I don't hate him."

Sam eats a French fry and waits a beat, as if Steve has more to say. He doesn't. "Steve, don't bite my head off for asking this, but how's Barnes doin'?"

Steve's mouth thins. "He's safe." 

Sam nods. "You okay with that?"

"It's what I have, Sam." He finishes his burger. There's another one on the plate, and a pile of fries, but his appetite is gone. "How are the others?"

"Wanda's still with Clint, who swears he's retired for good. She's going to college, trying to be as normal as she can be with her powers. Scott's back in LA working with Pym on some secret project or another. You know about me. Stark keeps in touch with varying degrees of success. I help Rhodey with his PT, which is going great. He might even get back into the suit one day. If he wants to, Tony will make it happen. Vision? You never know with him. He just 'is', if you know what I mean."

"Natasha?"

Sam raises a brow. "You know her better than I do. Once in awhile she sends a postcard. The last one was from Paris. Whether or not she's really there? Who knows?"

Steve sighs. "You know where to find me." He writes down a number. "I get a new phone every month, but I'll send you the contact information. Don't worry if I don't answer for a day or so. I'll be around. I'm not hiding. Just taking some time to fit back into the world as Steve Rogers, human being."

Sam holds out his hand. "You've always been that to me. Don't be a stranger. Stop by the VA. The guys will be thrilled to see you."

"I'll stop by, but I'm just another veteran, Sam. I'm not Cap."

"You'll always be Cap, Steve. The shield and suit don't define you. It's that damn human heart of yours that's Captain America." He leaves a bill on the table. "This one's on me, Cap. If you're looking for a running buddy, you know who to call."

"Thanks, Sam. I'll keep that in mind." He watches Sam leave and forces a few more calories down his throat before he leaves. Nobody pays him any attention as he walks out the door.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
His apartment is in a brownstone in Park Slope, not too far from Prospect Park. Two bedrooms, simply but comfortably furnished, with modern appliances and a view of Manhattan at night. He can see the A at the top of Stark Tower, glowing like a beacon. He has cable, a big screen smart TV, and wi-fi. He still feels isolated, the eternal man out of time. 

He tells himself his melancholy is just hunger, and makes a simple pasta dish with olive oil, sun dried tomatoes and fresh herbs. One of the few things he's picked up and enjoys is cooking. He has a glass of wine, not because it will affect him, but because he's grown to like the taste. After dinner, he goes for a short five-mile run through the park as the day cools off. He stops at a convenience store and buys a burner phone. When he's back home, he texts his new number to Sam and Natasha, and to T'Challa's private line. He puts on the Food Network and dozes off during another re-run of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. 

He wakes up the next morning regretting sleeping on the sofa through the night, but the stiffness wears off quickly over his first cup of coffee. He has to do _something_ with his life. If he holes up waiting for the phone to ring, he'll go mad. He calls Sam. "Do you have time to see me today?"

"Umm, as a friend or as a therapist?"

"Maybe both."

"I have a group session at 10. You're welcome to sit in on it. I'll even let you lurk in the back."

"Gee, thanks, Sam." Steve has to smile. "I'm not a recluse."

"Okay, just get over here." 

Next, he texts Natasha. _"Comment est la Tour Eiffel?"_

The answer is immediate. "You are such a dork," followed by a poop emoji. A moment later, his phone chimes. "What's up?" Natasha asks, sounding flippant and easy. 

"Missed you. Thought I'd take a chance you'd pick up. How's Paris?"

"You know. The same old same old." 

"Yeah." 

"Have you spoken to Tony?"

"No."

"You should."

"When I'm ready. Or when he's ready. Right now, I think I'll just wait and see what happens." He changes the subject. "You know Clint's retired again."

"Ha-ha. That's a joke. He may be retired but I bet there's a lot of arrows in hay bales." She pauses. "Any news?" Her voice is tentative, gentle.

"No."

"Will you let me know?"

"It's not my call."

"Steve …"

"Thanks for calling, Nat. I'll send you the new number when I change phones."

"You know you're a little paranoid, Rogers."

"Well, it takes one to know one." He disconnects with her laughter still in his ear. 

He gathers up his notebooks and sketchpads. He's come up with a plan that will at least help himself and others like him; soldiers displaced by war. He packs up and rides his bike over to the Veterans center where Sam works. It's in a small storefront -- nothing fancy, but clean and neat with flowers in planters on the stoop and an American flag hanging from s bracket by the front door. There is a soft electronic chime when he opens the door, and the young man sitting at the desk looks up. There is a scar running from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth and his hair is military short. There isn't any recognition in his eyes when he smiles at Steve.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Sam Wilson."

"Sure. Down the hall and first door on the right. He has group in a few minutes."

"That's okay. I'm a friend, not a client." 

He starts down the hall, then is brought up short by an awed whisper. "Holy shit, you're Captain America." 

Steve sighs and returns to the desk. "I'm Steve Rogers. That's all. Just another veteran with a lot of issues."

"Sir, you're a hero. They ain't got no right to take that from you."

"I gave it up." Steve tries not to feel defensive, and he's extremely grateful when Sam emerges from his office.

"Hey, you came over."

"I told you I would."

"Okay." Sam smiles brightly. "We're about to start. Are you lurking or participating?"

"Let's just see what happens." 

For a long time, Steve sits silently and listens to war stories. Stories of loss, of friends, of family, of innocence. His heart aches because he has lost the same things. He doesn't feel he has the right to speak up, but when everyone has spoken, Sam (damn his eyes) asks, "Steve, do you have something to share?"

Steve stands up reluctantly. "I'm Steve. I was a Captain in the army. But I was still a soldier just like you, and like so many of you, I've been in combat most of my adult life. I've lost men who were like family, and I lost my best friend. Like you, I'm just trying to live day to day. It's hard. I won't deny that. Sometimes, I don't want to get up in the morning, but I do. Because every day, I find one thing that makes life worth living, even if it's just a good cup of coffee, which is pretty pathetic when I say it out loud, but yeah, it's good. Life is good for five minutes, and maybe the next five minutes won't be awful, and the next five … So, that's what I do. Maybe it will help, maybe you're thinking I'm an idiot." He shrugs and sits down. 

He's surprised when the woman sitting next to him, pats his arm and says, "Thank you." 

Steve ducks his head, feeling like he's done nothing to deserve her gratitude. The group breaks up shortly after, with surprising cheer as they say good-bye to Sam. When the room is empty, he helps Sam stow the chairs along the wall and follows him back to his office. 

"You want a cup of not so great coffee?" Sam asks.

Steve manages a smile. "Do I ever turn down coffee with a friend?"

Sam pours a mug with the Army insignia on it. "For what it's worth, you did good in there."

"God, Sam. I just said what helps me."

"That was good. The five minute thing."

Steve smiles softly. "My mom always said if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes and it will change — in other words stop your whining and finish your homework." 

Sam laughs. "Your mom and mine — they'd get along pretty well, I think."

Steve ruthlessly suppresses the tears that threaten to fill his eyes. "Listen, I was thinking maybe I could start an art program here. I mean, I'm not a therapist or anything, but I know it helps me." 

Sam sighs. "Buddy, if it was up to me, you'd start tomorrow, but I have to run it by the directors and the VA, so it might be a couple weeks before you can start."

Steve's disappointment must show. Of course, he knows all about red tape and governmental hoops. "I get it, Sam." He puts a sketchpad on the desk. "Maybe you can show them my work, see if they approve."

"I'll do that." He leafs through the pages, pausing when he gets to a sketch of Bucky, not the way he is now, but as that young, carefree soldier who had yet to go to war. "Steve … These are great, but you should keep this one. Your heart is drawn all over this page."

Steve takes the sketchbook and carefully removes the drawing. "Sorry, I forgot that was in there."

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Sam asks. "I know how you feel about Barnes. Hell, the whole world knows he was your best friend. There's no shame in that. And if it runs deeper than friendship, I swear you're secret is safe with me. I didn't undergo torture resistance training for nothing, you know."

Steve has to smile at that. "I trust you with my life, Sam."

"But not with Barnes'?"

He shakes his head. "I can't. I'm not just protecting Bucky."

"You know I want the whole story someday?"

"Sam ,,, nobody hopes more than me that I can tell it to you someday." He takes out his phone. No messages. "I should go. You've got work to do."

"Come to as many groups as you want to. You're still an inspiration to these soldiers."

"Thanks, Sam. I don't feel very inspirational right now. Mostly, I just feel tired." He slings his backpack over his shoulders and waves as he leaves. The young man at the front desk calls him back just as his hand is on the doorknob. 

"Captain Rogers, wait!" He comes from behind the desk, and Steve is startled to see that he's also missing a leg. "I-I just wanted you to know that you've been an inspiration to me. Knowing what you did and what you went through … I figure if you could come back from that, then maybe I can overcome what happened to me."

"Son, you're a lot braver than I am," Steve says. "I think you're doing great."

"I hope so. Some days are just kind of hard." 

There is a definite Brooklyn edge to the boy's voice. It reminds Steve of Bucky. He holds out his hand. "It's an honor -- ?"

"Specialist Burke."

"It's always good to meet another Brooklyn boy." Steve shakes Burke's hand. "You keep an eye on Sam for me. Make sure he goes home once in awhile."

"Yes, sir." Burke salutes and grins. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 _Some days are just kinda hard._

Steve can barely drag himself out of bed the next morning. The serum cured his body, sharpened his mind, but didn't do a damn thing to stop nightmares. They clung like spiderwebs, burned like ice, and even now, in the daylight, they pulsed behind his eyes. Tony, bloodied, his eyes growing dull as his life faded. Bucky, back in the Siberian torture chamber; looking at Steve while tears run down his bruised face, asking why Steve abandoned him. Why did he let him fall? 

Steve crawls into the bathroom and retches into the toilet until he vomits nothing but bile. His head is screaming with pain; a migraine like he had before the serum, but it's phantom pain, like from a missing limb. Like Bucky must have felt — might still feel — but not in stasis, Steve reminds himself. At least he's not in pain. T'Challa would never let that happen.

Steve finally realizes that the tile floor is cold and hard. He hauls himself to his feet, washes his face with cool water; then takes a shower, letting the hot water leach the toxic dreams away. By the time he's dressed, he's feeling better, but still a bit off, like the day after he'd run a fever as a child. He makes a cup of tea and a piece of toast, sprinkling it with sugar and cinnamon, just like his mom had done. The lingering nightmares slowly fade into poignant memories of how it used to be, before the serum, before his mom died, before the war. 

He's about to spend the rest of the day flat on his couch watching mindless TV, when his doorbell sounds. He presses the intercom and video link. The image of a woman wearing the ubiquitous brown UPS uniform appears. "Hello?"

"Delivery for Mr. Steven Grant Rogers."

He had ordered some special brushes from an online art supply dealer earlier in the week, but he hadn't expected them to arrive so soon. "You can come up."

The package is long, flat and padded, but it doesn't feel like watercolor brushes. He weighs it in his hands. The return address is a post office box in Paramus. He opens it cautiously. A second evelope slides out. This one is thick, cream colored stationery. He sighs and takes out the card inside. 

_You are invited to attend a fundraising dinner to benefit the Steven G. Rogers Foundation hosted by Mr. Anthony Stark and Ms. Pepper Potts, on Friday, May 18th at 7pm. The event will be held in the principal lobby of Stark Industries, Inc. … RSVP to …_

Steve stares at the invitation. After the Insight disaster, he had established a foundation to provide scholarships to the children of the soldiers who had died trying to prevent HYDRA from completing their plan. He had funded it with personal appearance fees (which he had sworn he would never accept) and a good portion of his back pay from the army. Pepper had stepped in, offering to run the foundation. Then Ultron had happened and the foundation had been put on Steve's back burner. 

He can't _not_ go. There is only one thing to keep him from attending. 

Two weeks. He had two weeks to muster up the courage to walk into Stark Tower and face Tony for the first time since Siberia.

He calls Sam in as close to a panic as he can get. "Sam, did you know about this fundraiser for the foundation?"

"Got the invite in front of me. Looks like it's gonna be quite the soiree."

Just hearing Sam's voice is calming. Steve breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. "Want to be my plus one?"

Sam burst out into laughter. "Dude, you gotta stop trying to be colloquial. It just doesn't sound right comin' out of your mouth."

"Well?"

"Sorry, Steve. I wish I could, but my niece is gettin' married that weekend and if I don't go, my momma will be givin' me that look for the next fifty years." He pauses. "You don't have to go."

"I know. But I feel like I need to."

"Good. That's good, Steve. People need to see you, see that you aren't some kind of hermit in sackcloth and ashes. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Sam, I did a lot of things wrong."

"I know why you did it, and there ain't no shame in that."

Steve rubs his forehead. "You have a great time, Sam. Don't do anything to warrant 'that' look."

"I wish I could be there for you. Let me know how it goes."

"I will." His fate is sealed, one way or another. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_Friday, May 18th_

It's a beautiful spring evening in Manhattan. Steve climbs the stairs to the tower. High above him, the A in StArk glows gold tonight. The lobby is filled with beautiful people; men in tuxes, women in gauzy dresses like butterfly wings. Steve sticks to the perimeter of the room, not wanting to call attention to himself. There will be time for that later. He finds himself standing next to a bar, with a glass of club soda in his hand. People are starting to notice his presence even though they don't approach him. He makes his way to the mezzanine pavilion where the doors are open to allow people to enjoy the night. Tiny lights twinkle in the topiary bushes. Steve leans against the railing overlooking the courtyard where a wooden floor has been laid for dancing later in the evening. 

"Hey, stranger," a throaty feminine voice interrupts his daydreams. 

"Tasha," He wraps his arms around her briefly, then steps back. "You look spectacular."

"Of course I do." She links her arm through his. "You don't look so bad yourself."

"I think I saw a gray hair this morning."

"I think it was probably blonde," she quips. "I like the beard. It suits you."

"My feeble attempt to hide in plain sight."

"Well, it's not working. Here comes Pepper."

She's gliding across the floor, perfection in an ice blue sheath, her blonde hair swept back in a Grecian knot and diamonds glittering in a cascade from each ear. She holds out her hand. "Steve, I'm so glad you're here!" She embraces him warmly. "I wasn't sure you would come."

"It's my foundation, Pepper. I felt I owed you an appearance."

"Will you speak after dinner?"

"Pepper … "

"Please, just a word or two would mean so much."

He can't refuse. "Brief, very brief." 

Natasha clings to him like a protective burr, probably scaring off half the people who would normally fawn over him. The people she does let approach are mostly spouses of the soldiers who had sacrificed their lives. Their gratitude is untainted by what has become known as the Avengers "Civil War." 

Tony is nowhere in sight; perhaps avoiding Pepper, perhaps avoiding him. After an excellent dinner, Pepper stands up at the microphone. "As you know, this benefit tonight is a fundraiser for the Steven G. Rogers foundation. I can't think of a better person to introduce the first recipients of our scholarships than Steve Rogers, himself. 

The applause is thunderous. Steve nearly backs away, wondering what he's done to deserve this. He's been a fugitive, labeled a traitor, been stripped of his shield by the very man who owns this building, but there are people on their feet cheering him. He waits until the room is silent, then steps back up to the microphone.

"Thank you all for being here this evening. Thank you for the warm welcome. However, tonight belongs to the brave families who have lost loved ones, who have children who deserve the best education we can give them so that they can go out and change the world; to make it more beautiful, safer, and more hopeful for their children; because frankly, we haven't done that great of a job." He pauses for a breath and Pepper hands him a list of names. "These are the first recipients of the Steven G. Rogers scholarships. Use it well, find your passion, and let your lights shine like the stars." 

Once the recipients step up and receive their scholarships, Steve quietly leaves the stage to Pepper. Most of the guest are either congratulating the winners, heading towards the cocktail stations, or waiting for the band to begin playing. Staying on the periphery of the room, he makes it out the door to the courtyard. He finds a chair in a shadowy corner and sits, partially screened by a small tree. He hears a footstep behind him and stiffens.

"Nice speech. Very humble. Not something I can pull off."

Steve's heart clenches. "Hello, Tony."

Stark steps forward from where he had been even deeper in the shadows than Steve. "It's been awhile. You've done a commendable job of staying off the grid."

"It's not so hard," Steve says. "I could give you lessons."

Tony laughs. "There are times … Listen, can we go someplace more private to talk?"

Steve swallows hard, because this man gets to him — he's like a magnet pulling people into his field of attraction despite themselves. There's a huge chasm between them, yet Steve is still, _still_ drawn to him. "I can do that."

Tony gestures to a well-hidden door that looks like it leads to nothing more than a garden shed. Steve follows him and after passing through what really is a garden shed, they go through another door into a hallway. An elevator takes them up to the floor where Stark's lab is. Tony's always been more comfortable there than in social spaces. 

"Drink?" Tony gestures to the small but well-stocked liquor cabinet. 

"Kinda pointless," Steve can't help smiling. "Just water."

Tony fills a crystal glass and hands it to him. To Steve's surprise, Tony joins him, foregoing alcohol. "I meant it, about the speech."

"It wasn't my moment, it was theirs." He raises his glass. "To the future?"

"How about to the present?" Tony quirks a brow at him. "How about to us being in the same room and not trying to kill each other?"

"The night is early."

Stark laughs. "Truce?"

"Truce."

They're silent for the space of a heartbeat before Steve breaks it. "I've missed you, Tony."

"We've been in the same city."

"Not really. Brooklyn? Manhattan?"

"Pfft. Semantics."

"I figured if you wanted to see me, you'd show up on my doorstep."

"I pester Sam instead. Sometimes we're even cordial to each other."

"He's good like that." Steve drinks his water and waits. Tony seems to be working up to something and Steve doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. Finally, Tony speaks.

"Rhodey and I — sometimes we have these philosophical discussions while I tweak some of his hardware and I was going on about Siberia and the Accords and what the hell happened, when he asked right out of the blue,'Who would you die for, Tony?' I said, 'Obviously, you,' which really wasn't what he was looking for. So after he rolled his eyes and shook his head, he asked, 'Who would you kill for?' That was easy. 'Pepper. I'd kill and die for Pepper because she's the only person in the world who would put up with my shit, point out the error of my ways, and still love me.' Rhodey — who's a lot smarter than I am when it comes to people just looked at me … and, oh. _Oh_ , the light came on. It was … a revelation."

Steve can feel his shoulders get tight, defensive. "Tony, don't."

"I'm a lot of not so admirable things, but I'm not a bigot. What I'm trying to say is I get it now. I didn't understand then. I don't know what I would have done if I had. I'm sorry we came to blows. I really was going to try to make peace until Zemo showed that damn video."

There are a hundred hurtful things Steve could have said, but nothing will change the past; nothing would have changed Bucky's decision. Anger will only make things worse, and Steve is all over that. He's tired. So tired of trying to blame Tony for everything that went wrong. He has to accept his share of the responsibility or it will drag him down for the rest of his life. He sets his glass carefully on the table, afraid he will crush it. "I'm sorry about your parents, Tony. I kept that from you, and I was horribly wrong to do so."

Tony doesn't look victorious, he doesn't look righteous. He just looks sad. "Thank you. I said some terrible things to you, I took the shield and spat out all the jealousy I felt towards you. My father was a jerk. He acted like you were his favorite son. He would have built a _shrine_ to you. I tell you, Cap, you're a hard act to follow."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that. "It's not what I wanted. Howard didn't know me. He only saw what he made; a perfect soldier, not a flawed human being."

"My mom was a saint. She didn't deserve to die the way she did."

"The Winter Soldier killed her, Tony. Not Bucky."

Tony takes a swallow of water and turns away. "I saw the video files, you know. Natasha made me watch them, the ones from Siberia, like some twisted horror movie. Records of how they 'trained' the Soldier. They were merciless, brutal. Nauseating. After seeing them, I couldn't hold Barnes responsible. I'll regret that to my dying day, Cap. I'm so sorry. 

"I'm not Cap, Tony. Not anymore. I'm out of the superhero business. Give the shield to Sam. I don't want it." 

"I've kept it safe. It's yours if you change your mind."

"I won't. My priorities have changed." 

Tony's dark eyes search his for a moment. "I know you can't tell me about Barnes, and I won't ask. But I have something for you." He goes to a cabinet and touches the pad to unlock it. He takes out a small black case. "I've had a team of neuroscientists and neurologists working on this full time since MIT — and I think we finally have the right formula."

"What is it?"

"Doesn't have a name, but it does help erase the trauma from memories. Not the memory itself, but the emotions that are the source of trauma. I thought you might know somebody who can use it."

Steve opens the case, revealing two small ampules and a flash drive. It's a good long minute before he can force words past the lump in his throat. "Thank you, Tony."

"Consider it a peace offering." Tony holds out his hand. "Maybe I don't deserve your friendship, but I'm hoping that someday you will forgive me."

Steve holds out his hand. "I can work with that." Their hands clasp, briefly. "I should say goodbye to Pepper." He frowns slightly. "Speaking of Pepper, how are you two doing?"

"Working on it." Tony clears his throat. "It might be good again someday if I don't fuck it up."

"Don't lose hope, Tony."

"God, that is so you." Tony waves him off. "Go, before I do something stupid and ruin the moment."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Steve finds Pepper talking to Natasha on the mezzanine. "Thank you, Pepper. It was a lovely evening. It meant a lot to me and to those families."

"I was glad to do it." She kisses his cheek. "Now that you're back, don't be a stranger. Call me."

"I will," he promises. He doesn't tell her about his conversation with Tony. That was private, and he doesn't know how much Tony's told her about Siberia … or Bucky. 

"Share a ride with me?" Natasha asks. Her green eyes appraise him with too much knowledge. He could refuse, but he doesn't. 

They go out to the front of the building where a line of limousines is waiting. Once they're settled and the partition secured, Natasha tucks her arm in his. "You were gone for a while."

"Tony found me."

"No fresh bruises?"

"Not tonight. We talked, settled some things, left others for time to heal more before we go back there. The point is, we're talking. I told him I won't be coming back to the Avengers."

She tilts her head in acknowledgement. "Whatever makes you happy, Steven."

"I wish." 

Natasha rests her head on his shoulder. Her hair smells like lavender and flowers. They're almost to Steve's home when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He looks at the screen. "If you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry. I'm fine."

"Well, that's cryptic." Her eyes narrow. "Don't do anything stupid."

Steve flashes back to another time, another night, another voice. _How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you._

"You're not the first person to tell me that. I promise I'll let you know when I get back." They pull up to his brownstone and Steve gets out. "Take care, pretty lady."

"You know if it was anybody else but you, they'd be nursing a bruised jaw." She gives him a light punch on the jaw, and then kisses the same spot. "See you." She looks like she wants to say something else, but shakes her head. "Go. Do what you have to do."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is hope for Bucky, but bringing him out of cryo could bring a heartbreaking decision for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be one more chapter and an epilogue. At least that's my projection. For those of you waiting for more _I Didn't I Was Lonely Until We Met_ , I promise it is on the way as soon as I finish crying over Bucky.

Chapter 3

Steve has a go bag packed and waiting with his passport and basic necessities. He rolls the case Tony gave him into his sweats, calls for a cab and throws it over his shoulder. He calls Sam and leaves a voice message that he'll be out of town. Orders flowers to be sent to Pepper and a bottle of Stoli for Natasha. 

T'Challa has sent a private jet. Steve is given a ride across the tarmac and in fifteen minutes, they're airborne. It will be a long flight, but T'Challa has spared no luxury, including a fold down double bed. Steve stretches out, waiting for T'Challa to call. He doesn't intend to drift off, but he does, falling into an uneasy doze. 

"Captain Rogers?" The cabin attendant wakes him, and Steve sits bolt upright, instantly alert. "Yes?"

"His highness is on the line for you. The receiver is —"

"Thank you. I know where it is." He opens the arm of one of the seats. "T'Challa, what's wrong?"

"My friend, why do you always assume the worst?"

"So Bucky is all right?"

"James is still in stasis, but we have some hopeful news."The doctors believe they have found a way to destroy the pathways that connect the trigger words."

Steve doesn't know what to say. "I have something that may help. Tony has formulated a serum that overrides traumatic memories. It doesn't erase the memories, but the emotions aren't stressors any longer — or at least as far as I can tell from what my puny mortal brain can understand."  
T'Challa chuckles at that before he ask a more serious question. "Do you have the serum with you?"

"Yes, along with information on a flash drive."

"I you will allow one of the attendants to download the information, I will give it to our doctors to assess its value. It is good, Steven. Every step we take brings your James closer to being able to live the life he deserves — the life you both deserve. Now, rest and I will see you in a few hours."

Of course, Steve doesn't sleep at all. As soon as the jet stops, he's stepping out into the humid Wakanda dawn. T'Challa's driver brings him to the Royal compound and another assistant escorts him to the King's office. 

"His Highness will be with you in a few minutes, Captain. Please, help yourself to coffee and something to eat. You have had a long journey." He gestures to a table where there is coffee, tea and a variety of hot and cold dishes to tempt him. His body needs fuel. He needs to be strong for Bucky, even if he isn't particularly hungry. He pours a mug of coffee (T'Challa knows fragile cups aren't in Steve's comfort zone), and dishes out a full American breakfast, including an exotic fruit salad. Everything is delicious, made to appeal to him, and he eats well for the first time in what seems like days. 

T'Challa enters like the King he is, but as soon as he sees Steve, he smiles widely. "I am sorry not to have welcomed you personally. However, I find that life is not as simple as it was when I was a mere prince."

Steve has to laugh. "I believe that's the most understated job description I've ever heard."

T'Challa joins him at the table. "But it works up an appetite, no?" 

Steve fidgets, not wanting to interrupt T'Challa's meal, but burning with questions. 

T'Challa dishes out a hearty plate of food. "I know you want to hear about our plans for James, but for a few minutes, you should relax and think of yourself."

"Not so easy to do." Steve admits. "The last time I did that it nearly ended in disaster." He walks over to the window. "Please, T'Challa, I need to know about Bucky and this procedure."

T'Challa sighs. He takes a final sip of his coffee. "The doctor will be able to explain it much better than I can. Shall we?" He motions to the door and Steve has to force himself to allow the King to lead the way. There are some courtesies that can't be ignored, not even for the sake of friendship. 

Instead of going to the cryo chamber lab, T'Challa leads him to the doctor's office. The doctor is a slender man with dark, closely shorn hair. His name is Eduard Kani. Like T'Challa, his English is flawless with a slight British accent. His diplomas on the wall include Oxford and the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. There are others, from the Sorbonne and USC. Steve is more than impressed. He doesn't even know where to start with his questions, but the doctor speaks first. 

"Captain Rogers, it is an honor to meet you. The files from Mr. Stark were most enlightening. I will have to study his research further to see if combining his drug with the surgery —"

"Surgery?"

"Yes, it will involve surgery. However, we cannot do the procedure with Sergeant Barnes in stasis."

Steve swallows hard. "You know that taking him out of stasis and repeating those words is a tremendous risk — for him and for you."

T'Challa speaks quietly. "We will take every precaution."

"I have to be there," Steve said. "If something triggers him, I'm your best hope of containment."

"I agree. Hopefully, the procedure will proceed uneventfully."

Dr. Kani moves to a computer display that might even cast shade on Tony's. A model of a human brain is displayed in 3D. This is a representation of the normal human brain. This —" he touches the screen and a second image appears, "is James' brain. he touches the first image and it appears in cross-section. In the normal brain long-term memory is not located in just one specific area of the brain. The hippocampus is the catalyst for long-term memory, but the actual memory traces are encoded at various places in the cortex. You can see that in James' brain, there is an area here, in the cortex, where the neurons are very dense, something I have never seen. I believe, from the HYDRA files that the trigger words are embedded in that area. I believe those paths were constructed layer by layer under extreme duress."

Steve studies the models. His hands clench on the arms of his chair and he has to consciously release his grip when the wood creaks under the pressure. "You mean he was repeatedly tortured, until those were were physically _implanted_ in his mind?"

"I am sorry, but yes, that is what I believe. He has suffered much. I have never seen anything like it — these physical changes. It is possible it is part of the serum he was given."

Steve can feel the blood drain from his face. "The serum Howard Stark and Dr. Erskine gave me?"

"No, I do not think so. Your serum was perfected. James' was not."

"Erskine said that a good man could become great, and that an evil man would —" he can't say more. "James is not., and never was, evil." He sounds defensive, terse. "He had an edge; grew up in a tough neighborhood and was always watching out for me, protecting me. Even in the army, he would have given his life for any of his men -- when Red Skull was looking for test subjects. Buck wouldn't allow any of the Howlies to be tortured."

The doctor places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Your James, he was a good man?"

"The best."

"Perhaps that is why they had to repeat the brainwashing over and over again. You said he remembered you?"

Steve nods. "He remembered me. My mom. Growing up poor in Brooklyn. He remembered taking care of me. He was my best, my only friend." He looks at Dr. Kani. "Can the programming be disabled?'

"It will not be a simple process. We will have to remove the damaged tissue layer by layer. Word by word. There is no guarantee it will work."

"He would want you to take that chance."

"Captain, you have to know this. If the procedure is not successful, we will have to return him to stasis, perhaps forever. You must consider if that is the life you want him to have." The doctor is very gentle, but Steve can't move, can't think. What Kani is suggesting is beyond belief.

"You're asking _me_ to choose whether or not he lives?" Kani's sad. sympathetic expression is his answer. His heart feels as if it being wrenched out his chest. 

He can't do it. He _can't._

Steve manages to stammer something vaguely intelligible, and flees. How can they ask him that? He can't bear losing Bucky forever … not when he's just found him again. He can't walk the world alone for the rest of his unnaturally long life. He finally finds a bench at the end of a corridor with a view of the gardens and the mountains beyond. He tries to take deep breaths, to quell the nausea and quiet his pounding heart. 

"Steven?" T'Challa sits next to him. "It is better to know the truth than be blindsided by it. Dr. Kani is not deliberately cruel. 

"How much time do I have to make this decision?" Steve asks, his voice hoarse and trembling.

"That, my friend, is up to you. Take as long as you need."

"I can't think … "

"Come with me." He rises and holds out his hand. "There is something I would like to show you."

Steve follows T'Challa through the corridors back to the palace. They step out into the gardens and take a path that leads to a copse of tall trees. The path ends at a door inscribed with words fashioned of vibranium — Steve recognizes the sheen of the metal. T'Challa takes out a key and opens the door. Inside the walled garden, a fountain bubbles softly and butterflies as bright as gems flutter around them. One lands on the back of Steve's hand and he smiles. "Look at you," he says before he gently brushes it off with his forefinger. 

"This is beautiful, T'Challa."

"It is a very old, very sacred place. My father came here often when he needed to think. He said the wind spoke to him in the leaves of the trees and the scent of the flowers. Many kings have come here to ponder the weight on their shoulders, to find guidance for my country. It has served us well."

Steve walks over to the fountain; a basin of stone flecked with silver ore and carved with images of panthers. "I'm not a king."

"No, but you are a leader with a very heavy burden and a man with a very painful decision to be pondered. Here, you will be alone. The water is pure. It is long held to be a source of strength and insight."

"Do you believe that?"

"T'Challa gives a rueful shrug. "I am a man of science. There may be minerals in it that are beneficial, but … I can only tell you what my father told me. I find being here helps me clear my mind. Take what solace you can. Stay as long as you need."

"Thank you, T'Challa." 

"Be at peace, Steven." He leaves Steve alone, vanishing through the door and closing it quietly.

Steve goes to the basin and cups water in his hands to drink. It is pure, almost effervescent, with the faintest tang of mineral bitterness. He splashes some on his hot cheeks and forehead. The grass is soft underfoot, and he walks to a sunny patch and sits cross-legged. Natasha taught him how to breathe from his diaphragm, to close his eyes and empty his mind. Usually, his acute hearing prevents him from being unaware of his surroundings, the distractions of his too busy mind. He didn't realize until this perfect calm, how on edge he lived his life. Always alert, always looking for the next catastrophe. 

Here, the wind sighs softly, and the flowers perfume the air. Steve is so lethargic that he almost feels as if he has been drugged, but he recognizes his complete and utter exhaustion. He lies down on the grass; the sun warming his eyelids and relaxing his body. Unbidden, he falls asleep. 

He dreams about Bucky. He sees him carefree, whole. His eyes are wide with wonder as Steve lays him down on the grass and rests his hand on his beating heart. "I love you, Stevie," he says. "It don't matter if it's this life or the next. I'll always love you. The decisions you make are okay by me, as long as you love me, too. That's all I ever wanted."

"Me, too." Steve smooths the hair from his brow, kisses his forehead gently. "Always wanted you, Buck. I don't want to live without you."

Bucky smiles sadly. "Odds are, Stevie. Odds are." He closes his eyes and the mist takes him.

Steve jolts upright. "No!" He sits up, blinking. The sunlight is low, and the warmth is fading. He can't say he's found peace, but he knows what he has to do. He stands up and stretches the kinks from his bones before he leaves the garden, closing the gate and going in search of T'Challa and Dr. Kani. He finds them in the cryo lab. 

"Do it," he says grimly. "Wake him up."

"You are sure?" Kani asks. 

"He's always been a fighter. He'd take the chance. How long before he's awake?"

Kani touches his arm. "We are not HYDRA. It will take an hour to stop the cryo process and another day to bring him to consciousness. I promise it will not be painful or stressful. He will just wake slowly, as if from a good night's sleep." 

"I want to be there when he wakes up."

"Of course, Captain Rogers. Meanwhile, you should get some rest."

Steve doesn't move. "May I stay until he's out of cryo?"

Kane nods. "Very well. We will begin." He enters a code into a keypad. The capsule slides out; mist and condensation still obscuring Bucky's form. Kani enters another command, and there is a soft whirring as a fan draws out the mist. 

"Bucky?" Steve whispers. The glass capsule clears slowly. Bucky is there; a hint of frost lingering on his hair and eyelashes. "He looks so peaceful."

"He will be protected in the tube for an hour, then remain unconscious until it is safe to wake him. That will be several hours at the very least. You should take some rest, Captain. I will let you know when it is time for him to wake."

"Give me a few minutes?"

Kani nods and leaves Steve alone with Bucky. Steve pulls a chair close to Bucky's side. He looks the same as he when he went under; pale, at peace, and very young despite the heavy shadow of beard on his cheeks and the marks of a life lived with pain on his brow. Steve hopes he isn't destroying the only gentle rest Bucky has known for years. He thinks back, trying to recall his own awakening. It wasn't painful, just a shock to find out how much time had passed. Seventy years. What was the term of a few months compared to that? It was nothing. Steve whispers, "See you when you wake up, Buck. You're in good hands. They'll take care of you."

He leaves with a last reluctant look back. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
T'Challa's guest quarters are more luxurious than the suites at Stark's mansion. Some of it is the view, but the furnishings are impeccable, the colors reflecting the landscape out the window. Steve's belongings, meager as they are, have been unpacked and hung in the wardrobe. A meal is laid on the table; fresh fruit, game hen, freshly baked rolls, saffron rice. The portions are generous, but Steve has to force himself to eat. 

When he is full, or at least his body satisfied, he takes out a sketch pad. He knows there is entertainment available — movies on a big screen, music of any style and era, a thin laptop. He hesitates, thinks about sending Natasha an email, but she would probably figure out the ISP or whatever and show up on T'Challa's doorstep full of sympathy and curiosity. 

He's halfway through a sketch of the garden doors when there is a soft chime and Dr. Kani's voice comes through the house intercom (sounding uncomfortably like the old JARVIS). "Captain Rogers, if you would come the the medical wing, Sergeant Barnes is showing signs of regaining consciousness."

If Kani sounds slightly apprehensive, Steve can't blame him. He takes a deep breath and lopes through the corridors to the medical wing. He pauses at the entrance, gathers himself — half anxious to see Bucky, half terrified that he'll see the _Soldat_ instead. He steps inside. 

One of Dr. Kani's nurses smiles and takes him into the cryo lab. The clear glass of the tube is gone and Bucky is covered to the chin with soft white blankets. There is color on his cheeks, his lips. The serum, even in stasis, has healed the bruises and cuts that had marred his skin. His chest rises and falls visibly and his eyelids are fluttering as if in a dream. "What should I do?" Steve whispers. 

"Speak softly, call his name."

"Can I touch him?"

"He is still restrained until we know who we are dealing with, but yes,."

Steve nods and swallows. His mouth is dry. "Buck? Hey, buddy, time to wake up. I've missed you … I'm so tired of missing you." He strokes Bucky's hair, longer now than it's ever been, thick and soft as silk. "C'mon, time to open your eyes." He rests his palm on Bucky's chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. "Remember how back in Brooklyn, you used to do this, put your hand on my chest 'cause you were so afraid I was gonna stop breathing? I used to lie there, pretend I was sleeping just to feel the warmth of your palm. You were like the tether to me here on earth."

Bucky sighs, takes a deeper breath, and opens his eyes. "Stevie?" He turns his head, opens his eyes. He looks confused, his gaze going from Steve's face to dart around his surroundings, then back to Steve. "Stevie? Where am I?"

"It's me, Buck. It's okay. You're in the hospital." Bucky looks at him, confused. "Why?"

"Sshhh," Steve soothes. "Just go back to sleep? We'll talk some more later, okay?"

"S'funny, you get to boss me around," Bucky's voice is drowsy and his eyes close again. 

Dr. Kani returns, a strip of paper in his hand. "This is very good, very good. The serum is remarkable — it has begun to repair the brain damage. This will make the procedure less traumatic."

"He seems confused." Steve says, worried. "Is that normal?"

"There is nothing about him that is normal," Kani sighs. "However, the confusion is possibly a side effect of the sedation and coming out of stasis. "We will know more when he next wakes." 

"Wait. You said the procedure is 'traumatic?'"

"Naturally, we will take every precaution, but that is a discussion for later, when Sergeant Barnes is able to consent to it."

"When will he wake up again?"

"Perhaps an hour. Given the serum, I would not expect it to be much longer."

"May I stay?"

"Of course."

"I just want to get something from my suite. Something he might like to see when he wakes. I'll be back."

He returns with his sketchpad. There are drawings of how Steve remembers Brooklyn and the way it is now. Of New York, and sketches of the Howling Commandos drawn from memory. They are happy pictures, without trauma. A self-portrait of Steve before the serum and of Bucky, sitting on the rooftop wearing his work pants and an undershirt, a cigarette in his fingers. He's looking into the distance. It's one of Steve's favorite memories. If he closes his eyes, he can smell the heat from the asphalt roof, hear the neighborhood kids playing in the alley below, taste the cold beer Bucky had picked up on his way home. 

Bucky has been moved from the cryo lab, to a room. He's no longer restrained and his right arm is free. Steve still finds the absence of his left arm to be jarring and asymmetrical. Even the metal prosthetic had is own kind of beauty. 

He's filling out the final details on the rooftop sketch when he hears a whisper. "Steve?" Bucky's voice is rough and his lips look dry. 

"Hold on, I'll get some water for you." He finds a button next to the bed and presses it. A moment later, a nurse looks in. "Can he have some water?"

"I will check with Dr. Kani."

Bucky's forehead is creased. "Well, this isn't Brooklyn, and it sure as hell isn't Moscow."

Steve takes a deep breath. "Yeah. The first time you woke up, you didn't remember that."

"I remember everything." An orderly comes in with a tray and a pitcher of water. He sets it next to Steve, keeping well away from the bed. "Dr. Kani will be in shortly."

"He's afraid of me."

Steve sighs. "Well, not of you but of what you might be."

" _Soldat_ ," Bucky says flatly, without emotion. "He should be afraid. _You should be afraid._ "

"I've never been scared of you, Buck."

"Yeah, that's a real character flaw. You should work on that." 

Steve laughs for the first time in what feels like half his life. "You're still a jerk."

"And you're still a punk. Guess that'll never change." He pushes himself upright and Steve arranges the pillows so he's more upright. "I'm not sick."

"I know." The orderly reappears with a carafe of water and a plastic glass on a tray. Steve pours it and Bucky takes it in his right hand. He takes small sips. 

"Thanks, Stevie. It's good." He drinks more. "What've ya got there?"

"Just some stuff I drew. I thought you'd like to see home."

"Brooklyn?" The interest is bright in his eyes. He holds out his hand. 

"They're not great. I'm a little rusty." 

Bucky looks at the sketches, his eyes wide and soft. "Yeah, I remember this … Sal's Market. He used to give me bruised oranges to make juice for you when you were sick. Sometimes I think he must'a dropped 'em on purpose. He liked you, Stevie."

Steve shakes his head. "He liked Ma. He gave her flowers when I was sick, said they'd cheer her up." 

"Everybody liked your Ma. She was always nice to me, even when I'd track mud into her kitchen." His smile is gentle. "Let's see what else ya got here …" He looks at the series of then and now sketches. His eyes fill with tears. "Everything changes. You'd think I'd know that." He picks up the final sketch. "This is me?"

"You remember that day?"

"I don't remember being that young. My hair is so short."

"You said it was your summer cut. You'd let it grow a bit for the winter. Drove the girls crazy."

Bucky smiles. "I liked the girls, but they couldn't hold a candle to you."

"Pfft." Steve dismisses it with a wave of his hand. "I was skinny, sick most of the time. You know what they'd call me now? A nerd — and not in the cool way."

"I'd never do that to you."

"You didn't then, either. Nobody could understand how a guy like you could stay friends with me. I was always afraid you'd really see me one day and walk out the door." 

Bucky's eyes get a faraway look in them. "Even when I didn't remember anything, even when the Soldier was in control, I had this picture in my brain. You and me outside your flat after your mom died … You remember?"

"I said I wanted to be alone, and you told me, 'The thing is, you don't have to be. I'm with you to the end of the line.'"

"When you said that on the helicarrier, I wanted to kill you because you made remember what it was like to be human, to feel something that wasn't cold and ice in my heart. It was like when they put took me out of cryo. It wasn't like this. It was like pouring hot water on ice. It cracked, it hurt so bad. I just wanted it to stop hurting like that. I wanted to kill you, and I couldn't because I loved you." 

Steve's eyes were overflowing. His nose was running. He was a mess. "Geez, Buck. Give a guy some warning." He grabs tissues, half-laughing at himself. "I never forgot that I loved you. How could I?" He takes Bucky's hand and holds it to his lips. 

There is a knock on the doorframe and Steve turns, Bucky's hand still in his. Dr. Kani is standing there, smiling. "Ah, Sergeant Barnes. I would like to do some tests, painless ones, to assess how you are doing out of the cryo chamber. "If all is well, you can be discharged to Captain Rogers' care."

Bucky seems a little panicked by the thought of tests, but he nods. Steve turns to Kani. "Mind if I come with him?"

"Of course not. I assure you, these are painless scans. Over if a few minutes."

Bucky nods. "Okay."

An hour later, given a clean bill of health, physically, at least, Bucky is standing in Steve's suite. "Are you hungry?" Steve asks. 

"I think I could eat …" Bucky grins. "A cow or two."

"I'll see what I can do." Before he can touch the intercom, T'Challa strides into the room followed by an attendant wheeling a cart of food. 

"Dr. Kani says you must eat to replenish your body. The serum needs food in order to be effective, no?"

Bucky blinks. "I don't know."

Steve answers. "It does. A lot of food, calorie dense and nutritious. Protein, in particular."

"I believe this will help." He looks curiously at Bucky. "Did they not feed you?"

"It was Russia. Nobody ate well." 

Steve suspects there is more to the story, but he doesn't want to hear it. He can't _bear_ to hear another word of the tortures Bucky endured, and he doesn't want Bucky to think about it, either. 

"Thank you, T'Challa. I'll make sure he eats."

"And yourself, my friend."

"Of course. Thank you."

"Rest well. Dr. Kani will want to do more scans tomorrow, and you both need to rest." He leaves silently. 

Bucky laughs softly. "Look at you. Little Stevie Rogers friends with a King." He shakes his head. "I hope your Ma can see you now."

"She'd be telling me not to get a swelled head." He notices that Bucky doesn't talk about his own family, but he isn't going to bring it up. Bucky needs to eat and rest. "So, how about some food?" he asks, putting aside everything but this moment, because looking beyond tonight is too fraught with fear and pain. 

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky learns the details of the surgery and makes a decision that shocks Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I'm adding this due to the decision Bucky makes. Mentions of suicide, mercy killing, sacrifice. Not an easy chapter to read, or write. I agonized over the plot and finally decided to go ahead with it, because I believe it is something Bucky would do, self-sacrificing idiot that he is, and one that Steve would promise because he loves Bucky that much. 
> 
> Just remember, I have promised an eventual HEA.

Chapter 4

 

Neither of them does justice to the meal provided by T'Challa. Steve encourages Bucky to eat as much as possible since he won't be able to have anything after midnight. 

Bucky takes a few half-hearted bites of bread and finally puts the crust down. "It ain't gonna work, Stevie. If I eat more now, it will just come back up," He is pale and there are shadows in his eyes that trouble Steve. He gets up from the table and wanders over to the window. It's dark outside, but the stars are arching overhead like a bejewelled scarf. Bucky rests his forehead on the cool glass. "What do you know about this 'treatment?'" He doesn't look at Steve. 

"Dr. Kani is the best in the world according to T'Challa. If anybody can figure this out, it will be him." He doesn't tell Bucky about Tony's treatment. He'd probably refuse it just to spite Stark. "He explained it to me, but I'm not a doctor and most of it went over my head."

Bucky looks over his shoulder, a brow raised. "Don't lie to me. I want to know the truth of what I'm facing."

Steve feels inadequate, lost. He doesn't want to lie to Bucky, but he also doesn't want to tell him the details of the procedure. He sighs. "I think we need to talk to Dr. Kani."

"It's late."

"Let's see if he's available." He puts his arm around Bucky's shoulder, still careful of his left side. Bucky moves as if to shrug him off, but then slides his right arm around Steve's waist and leans in, pressing against Steve's side. "That is if you're okay with it?"

Bucky's hair falls forward, shielding his face. "Don't have much of a choice, Stevie."

"I know." 

They find Dr. Kani in his office. When they knock, he looks up from the lighted table. Steve recognizes the scans laid out on the illuminated top. "Ah, come in, Captain. Sergeant Barnes, you're looking well.."

"Call me James. I figure if you're gonna be poking around my brain, you've got the right to my given name."

"Very well, James. Please, sit down. I can only assume you must have questions about the procedure?"

"I don't think I'll sleep much if I don't know what's going to happen."

Kani gestures to the table. "I am studying for tomorrow, as well. Come, I will show you something."

Bucky approaches the table as if it is an enemy. He casts a covert glance at Steve, almost a supplication for him to stand nearby. Steve does, moving next to Bucky and resting his hand at the small of his back. He can feel every small tremor of his muscles, every breath. Bucky's heart is beating swiftly against his palm, but his face is impassive.

Kani talks him through the procedure, explaining how each word is programmed into a different layer and how they will remove the damaged tissue with small, targeted lasers. Bucky listens, and finally asks, "How will you know if the lasers work if I'm out?"

Kani sighs. "We will use local anaesthetic to access the brain, of course, but since the brain itself does not feel pain, you will be awake."

Steve feels the muscles in Bucky's back tighten. "That's a really bad idea, doc."

"Of course, you will be restrained. In addition, Captain Rogers will be at hand in case we are completely wrong, but I believe we will be successful."

"What if you're not? What if the programming can't be undone?"

"We will put you back into stasis." Kani watches Bucky's expression. "Hopefully, we will find a way to help you."

Steve thinks about what Kani had told him earlier. "Dr. Kani, I know you are being kind, but Bucky deserves to know what you told me."

"What?" Bucky's voice is rough. Steve takes Bucky's hand, twining their fingers together. Bucky looks at Steve. "It's that bad?"

Kani looks regretful. "If we have to return you to stasis, there is no guarantee that we will be able to successfully revive you."

Bucky swallows. "So, going back into stasis could mean the rest of my life?"

"Yes." Kani doesn't flinch. "Or as long as we can maintain your body."

"So my two options are to hope the surgery is successful, or go back into the ice indefinitely?"

Kani nods. "There is still time to back out, return to stasis or choose to live your life with the risk of being triggered."

"The risk isn't mine. It's yours." Bucky eyes are haunted. "You know what I am."

Steve takes a breath. He can't tell Bucky what to do. He can't made a decision for him. "We know what you can be, Buck. An ally, a friend, a human being. You're not some sort of automaton."

"I can be turned on and off with a switch, Steve. I'm not something you want in your world. The Soldier is programmed for one thing. Killing -- and I'm so good at it that a target is dead before they even know I'm in the same room." He looks sick. "I don't want to be that again. _You_ don't want to see me like that."

"I've seen you like that, Bucky, and I'm still here."

Bucky looks at him like he's insane and strides out of the lab. Steve's impulse is to follow, but Dr. Kani restrains him. "Wait, Captain. He needs to be alone. He needs time to think over his choices in order to make his decision. It is not an easy one for him."

Steve collapses onto a chair. He can't read Bucky's mind; not like he used to. Now, the Winter Soldier is part of Bucky; his experiences, his guilt, his darkness mingled with Bucky's light. "I love him," he whispers to Kani. "I've loved him my whole life." There are tears tracking down his cheeks. "Either way, I lose him."

Kani firms his grip on Steve's shoulder. "There is another possibility. We are successful, and he becomes what he is in his heart. A hero, a friend, a lover." He releases Steve. "Go, rest. You will need it for tomorrow."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"Bucky?" The suite is nearly dark, only the convenience lights glow softly as he enters. He sees a dim shape by the window. "Buck?"

T'Challa turns. "He is in the garden. He seemed to need a place to think, much as you did."

"He's alone?"

"There is a guard keeping watch out of sight, and of course, there is only one way access. You believe he will run?"

"He might," Steve admits reluctantly. "The Bucky I knew wouldn't, but the man he is … I'm not so sure."

"Then you do not know him as well as you think you do," T'Challa laughs softly. "He will not run. That is the way of a coward. James may be many things, but I think not, a coward."

Steve smiles. "No. Not that. But what he's facing … what I'm facing … I'm afraid, T'Challa."

"So is James. He needs your strength. His has been fractured, damaged. He's more fragile than he allows anyone to see."

"But you see him more clearly than I do." Steve's chest hurts. He should be ashamed. He should have seen it.

"It is not your fault, my friend. You see him through the filter of your memories. He protected you, no? He was your hero. Me, I am a stranger. I have no memories of what he was before he was broken."

"I need to be with him," Steve tells T'Challa. 

"You know the way. Go. I will be with you in the morning."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

In the moonlight, the garden is even more lovely than it had been during the day. Night-blooming flowers perfume the air and the soft sound of water flowing over stones soothes Steve's anxiety. He almost doesn't see Bucky, sitting half in shadows, revealed only by the glint of the metal crown of his shoulder. His head is bowed, his hair falling about his face and shoulders. 

"Bucky?"

He looks up, pushing his hair back with one hand. "Hey, Stevie. Guess T'Challa ratted me out."

"I wouldn't say that." Steve sits next to Bucky and leans back on his elbows. "He is the King."

"He's a good man."

"So are you."

"I don't remember," Bucky says, a tinge of sadness and pain in his voice. "I remember every murder I committed, but I don't remember anything I did that was good. They took that from me. Every bit of good -- wiped out until I was nothing but a husk that they filled with hate and rage. You don't know what that's like, Stevie. Thank God you don't."

Steve swallows. "I don't, but Clint does, Natasha does. They know … and they're the best friends I have. They made it back, Bucky."

"Doesn't mean I will." Bucky looks down at Steve. "If I can't … if I don't, I'd rather die." 

Steve's heart is pounding so hard he thinks Bucky must be able to hear it. He sits up. "Buck. what are you saying?"

Bucky's eyes are silver with moonlight, filled with regret and tears. "If it doesn't work tomorrow. If I … if the _Soldat_ survives … You have to kill me."

Steve looks at him, horrified. "No! I can't do that!"

"You _have to_. Steve, Listen to me." He takes Steve's hand and holds it to his lips. "Please, Steve, please promise me it will be you. I'd rather die in your arms than go back into stasis. You don't deserve to be alone -- and don't argue with me -- because I know you better'n anybody, and I know you'll wait for me. That ain't right, Stevie. But if I'm gone, then you'll mourn and then maybe find somebody who'll love you like you deserve. You won't have to worry about me. I'll be at peace, Stevie, for the first time since Zola and the 107th. I'm tired. So tired. Even the _Soldat_ wanted to die because he knew he was sick. Why do you think they put me into cryo and wiped my mind every time I finished a mission? Because they were afraid if I remembered, I would take a gun and blow out my brains." He says it with flat, brutal truth; acid on the tongue.

Steve is trying not to sob, trying not to lose everything. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "Bucky, please … " His voice is broken, his heart shattering in his chest. 

Bucky takes his hand and puts Steve's palm over his heart. "Promise me you will do this. I don't wanna die, I promise you, but I don't want to live like a weapon. It's the last thing I'll ever ask of you." His tears fall on Steve's fingers. "Promise me. Make a vow that you'll do this one last thing for me."

"I can't. I just … "

Bucky takes a deep breath. "Back in the war, if I'd been shot, if I'd been bleeding out and you couldn't stop it, if I was in pain and you couldn't relieve it, if I was dying -- not fast but real slow -- and I asked you to kill me, would you have done it? Or would you have put the gun in my hand and walked away?"

"It's not the same thing," Steve tries to argue.

"It is to me," Bucky says softly. "The soldier is killing me. Each time, he takes a little more of the guy you call Bucky. I'm not him, Stevie. There ain't much of him left, but what there is, would rather die at the hands of someone who loves him than be torn to pieces by _Zimniy Soldat_." He spits out the Russian words like poison. 

Steve takes Bucky's hand and presses it to his own heart. He has to say it now, or he'll never find the courage again. "I swear, you will die in my arms."

Bucky gives a sob of relief and buries his face in Steve's broad chest. Steve holds him in his arms, hoping they're strong enough to carry them both through this trial. 

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has his surgery and Tony's treatment. Nobody is 100% sure it is successful. Steve enlists Natasha's help in bringing Bucky's memory back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter contains some detailed brain surgery. I'm not a doctor, and certainly not a brain surgeon! I've done some research and I have a friend who has had brain surgery, so some of this is based on her experiences. Any errors made are my own. This is a work of fiction ... most definitely!

Giving Bucky peace of mind costs Steve his own. When Bucky finally calms and they return to the suite, he's clearly exhausted. "I'm gonna shower and go to bed," he says. Even his voice has lost its vibrancy. 

For the first time in a long time, Steve wishes he could drink enough alcohol to at least relax, if not bring oblivion. It won't happen. He collapses on the couch and listens to the water running in the shower. When it cuts off, he goes into the bedroom and undresses down to his boxers, then waits. 

Bucky emerges smelling like coconut and vanilla, which makes Steve smile. "What?" Bucky asks. 

"You smell like cookies. Very sexy." 

"I hate you," but the words are fond. "Punk." He crawls into bed, burrowing into the pillows. 

Steve brushes his teeth and slips under the covers. Bucky curls into his warmth.

Steve combs his fingers through Bucky's damp hair. He wonders if they'll have to cut it for the surgery. He'll miss the softness, the way it twines through his fingers. 

"Better enjoy it, Stevie. Tomorrow I might be bald," Bucky murmurs. "Feels so good."

"Shh. Hair grows back. It'll be like the old days."

Bucky sighs. "If I come back from this —"

"Not if. When."

"You're the same old stubborn Stevie. Never knows when to back down from a fight."

"Not one I know I can win." 

"Love you," Bucky sighs. "Always have. Always will." With that, he's asleep. 

Steve lies awake. He can't stop thinking about tomorrow. He can't bear the thought of having to keep his promise. He can't bear the thought of not being able to keep it for Bucky. He feels sick, but he steels himself, tells himself that when the day is over, Bucky's torment will be over and their lives will stretch out before them, long and sweet to the end of the line.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

At first light, Steve wakes Bucky with a gentle kiss. Bucky opens his eyes. Sleep dazed and calm he smiles up at Steve. Then he remembers. "It's today." 

"Yes." Steve tucks a wayward strand of Bucky's hair behind his ear. He doesn't know what to say. He kisses him on the forehead. "It will be alright."

"I'm scared, Stevie." Bucky's voice trembles. "You gotta keep your promise."

"It will be alright," Steve repeats. He will be strong for both of them. 

The doctors come as soon at dawn. They bring a wheelchair for Bucky. He shakes his head. "I can walk." He turns back to Steve and gives him a salute. 

Steve salutes back, a hero paying respect to another hero. He dresses, says a quick prayer to his mother, because she's as close to an angel as he'll ever get, and goes to the medical wing. He's greeted by Kani's assistant. 

"He needs to talk to you before the surgery."

"Of course." Steve's stomach actually hurts. He follows her to Kani's office, where the doctor is studying a 3D scan of what Steve recognizes as Bucky's brain. The doctor is making minute movements with his fingers, dancing over the image like he's playing a piano. Steve watches silently until the doctor stops and turns off the image. He turns to Steve. 

"Ah, the best surgeons, like the best dancers, believe in rehearsal until the movements are like muscle memory. I find it calming."

"You'll need it for this." 

Kani smiles slightly. "You are concerned, naturally."

Steve takes a breath. "He asked me to kill him if the Winter Soldier can't be eradicated. I need your help if it comes to that. I promised, Doctor. He won't go back into stasis."

Kani looks both shocked and sorrowful. He sits at his desk. "For him, and for you, I suspect, there is no substance that will be lethal. The serum will neutralize it before it reaches lethal toxicity."

"I know." Steve looks miserable. "Even a gunshot — and I couldn't do that. I can't," he whispers. 

"A laser to the area of the brain that controls the autonomic nervous system would paralyze him. Breathing would stop, his heart would stop. It would destroy his brain stem. It would be painless, instantaneous. It is the best death I can offer."

Steve closes his eyes. "It has to be me. I have to be the one to do it."

Kani rises and places a hand on Steve's shoulder. "My son, don't put this burden on yourself. I can place it precisely. You need only give me the word."

Steve buries his face in his hands, shamed by his tears, his weakness. "I have to be there."

"Yes. We will prepare together." 

"Is he — can I see him?"

"Of course. He will need to know you are there. The first thing we must do is administer a sedative drug much like the one we gave him when he came out of stasis. Then we will have to position him in a halo brace. At this time, we will administer a drug that will inhibit his movements, not only to control him, but also to keep him still while I work. Sensors will be placed to monitor his brain function as the words are spoken one at a time. When the sensors indicate agitation, we will destroy that pathway with lasers. Then the next one … and so on. When the surgery is finished, and the sedative wears off, we will test him again, then wait an hour, and once more. Then we shall see what will happen. If the response is weak, we will administer Mr. Stark's drug. If it fails again --? He doesn't have to finish his sentence. "You should see him now before we administer the stronger sedative and muscle relaxant.."

Bucky is sitting in a chair that looks distressingly like something from a HYDRA chamber, but he's on an IV drip that has to be a sedative because he looks like he's on a three day bender. He gives Steve a loopy smile, looking so innocent that Steve's heart breaks. "Hey, Stevie," he slurs. "Lookit, they cut my hair."

Steve smiles. "Just like the army, Buck."

Bucky's eyes are a little blurred but he's focused on Steve. "I'm afraid," he whispers. "Not of dying, but that I won't remember you. I don't want to forget you, Steve."

"Hey, you didn't forget me after everything HYDRA did to you, so I'm not worried. I know you'll always come back to me."

"You'll keep your promise?" Bucky grips Steve's hand, his eyes suddenly clearer. "Remember your promise! No matter what, you have to keep it."

Steve kisses his hand. "I promise. Dr. Kani says it will be painless, quick. But we won't think about that, okay? Remember, I'm with you to the end of the line, just like always."

"To the end of the line, wherever or whenever it is. " The nurses come in with IV bags. Bucky's eyes are wide. "Love you, Stevie."

"Love you, too. I'll be here when you wake up." He holds Bucky's hand in both of his while the nurses inject the drugs into the IV line. In less than a minute, Bucky's grip relaxes completely. His eyes flutter, then close. 

_Oh, God. I can't lose him. Come back to me,_ Steve prays silently. 

"Dr. Kani is waiting in the scrub room for you, Captain." 

A few minutes later, scrubbed and gloved, Steve sits at Bucky's side and the procedure begins. 

He doesn't expect it to be bloodless, but it is. He doesn't expect the odor of burning bone as they drill small holes in Bucky's skull to fix the halo brace. He doesn't expect Bucky's eyes to flicker beneath his closed lids, or the small involuntary twitches of his hands. He doesn't expect the nausea churning in his stomach. He's been to war, he's been in battles with aliens and robots and seen the damage dropping a fucking city back to earth can do. He's dug corpses out of the rubble. But this … this is different. 

The chief surgical nurse asks, "Captain, are you alright?" 

Steve shakes off the visions, quells his nausea. "I'm fine." 

Dr. Kani says quietly, "We are ready."

_Longing_  
Rusted  
Furnace  
Daybreak  
Seventeen  
Benign  
Nine  
Homecoming  
One  
Freight Car 

The words are in Russian, of course, T'Challa having brought in a native speaker in the dialect used by the Winter Soldier's handlers. Each one elicits a response of some sort, a twitch of Bucky's hand, the tightening of a muscle, rapid eye movements. Kani cuts through the programming word by word. When he gets to _freight car_ , it's Steve who draws in a sharp breath, reliving the horror of seeing Bucky fall into an abyss. Meanwhile, under his grip, Bucky's muscles tense hard enough to break bone. Steve gasps, then suddenly Bucky releases him, his fingers falling open. 

"What's happening?" Steve asks, in a near panic as he hears monitors sounding. 

"Doctor, he's crashing … " The surgical nurse says, sounding calm, but urgent. 

"Captain, release him and step back." 

Steve has seen this before, with Fury. The charge of the defibrillator, the gel, the press of the paddles to a chest, the jerk of the body as the charge is delivered to the heart. Bucky's body arches against the restraints. 

Once.

Twice. 

Then the alarms stop and the cardiac monitor resumes a steady beep. Steve's heart is pounding so hard he thinks he might need a shock to slow it. "Is he?"

"He's fine — or as fine as he can be for a man who had no heartbeat a moment ago."

"What happened?"

"If he were not enhanced, I would say it could have been the anesthesia, or an injury from the surgery. However, I believe it was part of a HYDRA fail-safe program. If the triggers were to be ineffective —"

"They would have executed him?"

"Barbaric," Kani agrees, "But for us, perhaps fortunate. It may indicate that we have been successful in destroying the pathways." He takes a deep breath. "Take him to stage two."

"What is that?" Steve has reclaimed Bucky's hand. It's cool to the touch.

"We are bringing him to twilight sleep to test the effectiveness of the procedure. If … if the programming has not been eradicated, we will administer Mr. Stark's treatment. If that does not work … then you must decide what is to be done."

Steve swallows hard. "I'm ready."

Dr. Kani waits a few moments for the anesthesiologist to indicated that Bucky is stable and in the twilight stage. "Sergeant Barnes … James, can you hear me?"

Bucky mumbles, his words slurred with the drugs. "Thirsty." He tries to lick his lips. "Dry."

"Yes, I know. Just a little longer, then you will be able to have something to drink. Meanwhile, I need you to listen to what you are about to hear. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

Kani nods to the interpreter. "Go on."

"Longing." Not even a blip on the monitors.

"Rusted." 

"Furnace."

Steve starts holding his breath.

"Daybreak."

"Seventeen."

"Benign." Bucky's fingers twitch in Steve's, but there is no change on the monitors. 

"Nine." There is a blip on the EEG monitor and Steve's stomach knots.

"Homecoming." 

Bucky lips move. "No!" The word is hoarse, tortured. "No!"

"Doctor!" Steve says urgently. "Can you give him the treatment now?"

"One." The monitors are beeping again, but the EKG remains steady. If not for the paralytic, Bucky would be thrashing against the restraints. As it is, he's shaking and repeating, "No … no … Stop!"

"Freight Car." 

Bucky screams and goes limp. Steve utters a harsh cry, and Kani's eyes flick from monitor to monitor. "Everything is in normal limits, Captain," he reassures him. "As a precaution, I would like to administer Stark's treatment. But before we begin, speak to him."

Bucky's face is peaceful and slack, his breathing even. His eyelids flutter when he hears Steve's voice. "Hey, Buck, it's me, Steve."

Bucky's eyes open, still nearly all dilated pupils. "Stevie? Why're you wearing a mask?"

"You're in the hospital. You had an operation."

He seems to process that for a moment. "Am I dyin'?"

Steve looks at Kani in alarm. He shakes his head. "No, Buck. Why would you think that?"

"Feel funny. Kind of floaty an' my head hurts and … and I can't move." 

"I know."

"Why're you cryin'?"

"Just a little longer, Buck. Then you'll be fine. Okay?"

"Stay?"

"Always."

Kani nods at the nurse. "Administer the treatment."

She injects the serum into the IV line. The monitors remain steady. Bucky sighs deeply. "Stevie?"

"Yes?"

"C'n I go to sleep now?"

"Sure, Buck. You sleep and I'll be here when you wake up." 

Bucky sighs again and relaxes into what Steve hopes is sleep and not something worse. Dr. Kani is apparently satisfied. Steve, for the first time, allows himself to hope. Kani nods at him and the surgery ends with Bucky's head bandaged, off the anesthesia, and being wheeled to recovery. He's still in the vibranium restraints as a precaution. Covered in warm blankets, strands of his dark hair slipping free of the bandages around his forehead, his mouth soft with sleep, he looks so young, so vulnerable, that Steve's heart hurts. He kisses Bucky's forehead. "I'll see you soon," he whispers, and follows Dr. Kani to the locker room where he strips off the surgical gown and scrubs, showers and dresses in his own clothes. 

Kani looks at him with the eyes of a doctor. "You need to rest, or at least have something to eat. You will be no good to him, or to me, if you do not keep your strength up."

Steve smiles. "That's not how the serum works. I can go for days without food. I can --"

"Yes," Kani says impatiently. "You can go for days, I understand, Captain. The question is, should you allow your strength to be depleted?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. But I don't want to leave him, either."

"Very well, I will have somebody bring you food, but you must eat it and not allow it to go cold. Your friend will sleep for several hours yet. King T'Challa has arranged for a comfortable chair for you so you will not have to 'bend your spine' I believe that is the colloquialism for sitting in an uncomfortable seat?"

"You got that right, Doctor. You know I would sit on a concrete bench to be with him."

"But why do that when you can have something much nicer?" Kani smiles. He looks tired. "I will take my own advice and rest for a while. If there is any change in James' condition, I will be notified immediately."

Steve returns to the recovery room. The nurse is entering his vitals into a tablet. She smiles at Steve. "He is doing well."

"What is in the IV?"

"Hydration, pain medication, and a steroid to control any swelling in his brain, though it seems his enhanced healing is taking care of that. It is amazing to see."

Steve nods. "It is. His serum was different than mine, though the healing seems to be about the same."

She nods, but doesn't ask any more questions. As she leaves, an orderly comes in wheeling a cart like this is a five-star hotel with room service. He pauses by the chair -- recliner, really -- that has replaced the uncomfortable chair that seems to be standard in hospitals, even one as advanced as this one. Steve folds his body into the cushions and the orderly adjusts the cart. "King T'Challa will be in to see you and your friend in an hour. He thought you might like some time to rest and eat."

"Thank you." Steve lifts the cover from the plate. Steak, Potatoes, vegetables, bread and butter, Dover sole with new peas, a cheese and fruit plate. Steve is ravenous. He eats everything, his body craving calories and protein. He hasn't been hungry in so long that his body just takes over, making him eat to sustain its serum fueled metabolism. 

Bucky is still unconscious, the machines monitoring him beeping softly. Steve moves the service tray aside and pulls the chair closer to the bedside. He takes Bucky's hand, reclines the chair and falls asleep. 

He isn't sure what wakes him; some small movement, a sound, a change in the level of the monitors. Whatever it is, he sits upright, and turns to the bed. Bucky is awake, his eyes fluttering open. His lips move soundlessly. "Steve?"

Steve pushes the call button for the nurse and hopes Dr. Kani was alerted as well. The nurse arrives first. She smiles at Bucky. "Sergeant, you're awake."

"I think he's thirsty. He's having a hard time talking and his lips are dry."

The nurse turns her smile to him. "Yes, Doctor."

Steve blushes. "I'm sorry, but can he have some ice chips or something?"

Dr. Kani comes inside the cubicle, his white coat flapping in his haste. "Ah, our patient is awake. How are you Sergeant?" 

Bucky looks alarmed, his eyes going to Steve's. Steve touches his shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay, Buck. Just a few more minutes."

Kani reads the tape the EEG spewed out. He listens to Bucky's heart, takes his pulse. "Good. Good. I think some ice chips are in order. Captain, would you like to do the honors?"

Steve holds a cup of crushed ice to Bucky's lips. He tips a small chip into Bucky's mouth, then another. Bucky smiles. "S'good."

"Have some more," Steve encourages while Kani is busy talking to the nurse. 

"Not used to this," Bucky says. "It was usually you bein' sick an' me taking care of you, right?"

Steve blinks back tears. "Yeah, that's right. It was a long time ago. You were always lookin' out for me."

Kani interrupts. "Sergeant, do you know who I am?"

Bucky frowns. "Dr. Kani?"

"Good. Do you remember why you are in the hospital?"

"I had an operation … to get words out of my brain so I wouldn't be _him … Zimniy Soldat_."

"Yes, that's right. Do you feel like he's there, in your brain?"

Bucky pauses, his brows knit. "No. I mean — I remember what it felt like to know he was in me, waiting to be called." He pales. "My head hurts," he whimpers. 

Kani rests a gently hand on his forehead. "Yes, I imagine it does. Rest, James. I will be back in a few hours to check on you."

"Doctor," Steve speaks up. "Can you take off the restraints?"

"No!" Bucky's hand tightens into a fist. "Not until we're sure. I can't risk it, and neither should you."

Dr. Kani nods. "We will test you tomorrow. However, I am optimistic that he is gone, leaving just a ghost to haunt you."

"Great." Bucky turns his head to the pillow. "My own personal haunting." His brow furrows, pain etching his eyes and the corners of his mouth. 

"Can you give him something for the headache?" Steve asks. 

"No, " Bucky answers. "I'm okay. I've had worse."

"That doesn't mean you have to put up with it now," Steve says softly. "Doctor?"

"I can prescribe something to take the edge off, but unfortunately the serum burns off anagesics too quickly for them the be effective, and I don't want to give him anything stronger. He speaks to the nurse and she returns in a few minutes with another IV bag. She adds it to the already impressive array on the poles.

After a few minutes, Bucky loses the pinched look around his eyes and mouth. "Thanks, Doc," he yawns. Think I'll sleep some more. "S'funny. The Soldier didn't sleep much, now it's all I want to do."

"You just had brain surgery, Buck."

"There is that," Bucky sighs. His eyes close. 

Kani gives one more look at the monitors. "You should take an example from your friend and rest some more."  
"I promised I wouldn't leave him, and I won't. There's time for sleep later." After Kani leaves, Steve takes his phone out of his pocket and stares at it for a long time before he puts it away. Bucky doesn't look like he'll be waking up for a while. Steve tells the nurse he's going out for some air, and leaves the medical facility.

He pauses outside T'Challa's office. The rooms are dark. He doesn't know the area well-enough to wander around looking for the King. He's about to turn back to the medical wing, when T'Challa's bodyguard appears. She's the scariest woman he's met since Natasha. She's nearly as tall as he is, and regal in a way that no mere bodyguard is. 

"Can I assist you, Captain?" Disapproval radiates from her. 

"I was looking for the King."

"King T'Challa is dining. He is not to be disturbed."

Steve feels like he's the skinny kid from Brooklyn. That skinny kid had a lot of nerve, and Steve has never backed down from a challenge. "I would like to speak with him."

They stare each other down, Steve drawing himself up to his full height. He doesn't attempt to intimidate her, but he's aware that it gives him a certain _gravitas_ , a dignity that comes from carrying the shield as Captain America. The shield is gone, but the bearing remains. 

She inclines her head. "I will inform the King that you are waiting."

"Thank you." 

He sits on a bench in the hallway and thinks some more about what he wants to ask of T'Challa. It is a risk, but it's something he owes Bucky. Something the world owes Bucky. A shadow falls across his lap and he looks up. The _Dora Milaje_ stands in front of him. "King T'Challa will see you, Captain."

He follows her into T'Challa's chambers. T'Challa is wearing the comfortable, cool native costume of Wakanda instead of one of his impeccable suits. He holds out a tall glass of something that looks cool, with mint leaves and a lemon slice floating in it. "Dr. Kani tells me you need to hydrate."

Steve takes the glass and sips. There is a faint bitter tang under the mint and lemon, but it's not unpleasant. He drinks more and feels like wilted lettuce plunged into cool water. "Thank you."

"Please, sit and relax, Steven. It has been a long, arduous day. I wish I could have been with you, but … " He gives and elegant shrug. "I am still learning to be King. Politics."

"I know a little about that myself," Steve smiles. "On a very different level, of course."

"Tell me, how is James?"

"He was awake briefly. Dr. Kani seems pleased with his recovery."

"And you?"

"I hope the Winter Soldier is gone, but I don't know who was left in his wake. I don't know how much of Bucky remains." Steve must look shattered, because T'Challa sets a strong hand on his shoulder. 

"Forgetting is not always merciful, my friend. Even tragedy makes us stronger."

Steve knows that, has lived it all his life. "I want to do something that will make it easier for him, make things more familiar, but I can't do it without your help and approval."

"What is it?"

"When he was captured by the CIA, he had a backpack. There were notebooks in there. I want to get them back. He was so close, T'Challa, so close to having a small, quiet life. Zemo tore that away, and then made it worse when Ross stepped in. I'd do anything to give that back to him, even if I don't get him back. " 

"So, how do you intend to do that?" T'Challa seems wary for the first time. Steve can't blame him. 

"Natasha. She has the best chance, and I trust her."

T'Challa laughs softly. "She was not on your side."

"Natasha is on her own side, that is how she survives. But she knows Bucky, and she helped us in the end. I would like to contact her, have her retrieve the backpack and its contents, and get them here."

"If it were anybody else, I would refuse, but for you and your friend … I find myself on your side."

"Natasha won't do anything to put Wakanda in jeopardy, you have my word."

"I should not believe you, but I find myself unable to refuse. Come with me." T'Challa takes him to his office and gestures to the phone on his desk. "It is entirely safe, completely encrypted. Getting the parcel here may not be as simple."

"I have an idea, and Natasha has her ways."

"You will tell her where you are?"

"Not deliberately, but she's probably already figured that out. Don't underestimate her intelligence."

"I would never do that," T'Challa can't help grinning. "I trust you, my friend. If you trust her, then I must as well." He leaves Steve alone in the office.

Steve picks up the receiver, takes a deep breath, and dials Natasha. It goes to her voicemail, of course. Steve starts speaking and there is a click and then she's speaking. "Steve?"

"Natasha. It's good to hear your voice." He means it, surprised by the tightness in his throat. "How are you?"

"Keeping busy. Staying out of trouble. Lying low."

"Where are you?"

"Steve … Lying low has a specific meaning." She sounds fondly exasperated, not angry. He counts it as a win. 

"Listen, I need a favor. I'd ask Sharon, but I don't think she would do it."

"Does this involve the CIA?" Natasha's voice is cautious. "I'm not a spy anymore."

"It's for Buck … James." 

There is a moment of silence, and Steve almost thinks she's hung up, before she speaks again. "How is he?"

"Safe, healing."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"'Tasha, if I could answer that I would. Please just hear me out. I want to find out where Bucky's backpack is. I need you to retrieve it and take it to my old place in D.C."

"You haven't sublet it?" 

"Sam uses it once in awhile, so, no."

She sighs. "You owe me, Rogers."

"Always, Natasha. I trust you to do this. There isn't anybody else who can help."

"Okay, how do I let you know if I'm successful?"

"How much time do you need?" He can hear her thinking. 

"If I call in a favor … a day."

"Who are you calling?" Steve sounds suspicious. 

"A friend … with resources."

"Stark?"

Natasha laughs. "I thought you said this was secret? No, somebody else who has to remain anonymous."

"I'll call you in twenty-four hours. Thank you, Natasha. I promise as soon as I can, you'll get the whole story."

"I can't wait," she says, deadpan. "Talk to you soon. Next time, try not to call at 4am. I need my beauty sleep."

He'd forgotten about the time difference. "Goodbye, Natasha." He ends the call before she can start calculating time, distance and where they are, even though he's pretty sure he's right that she's figured it out already. He finishes the drink and sits for a few moments in the silence. If he stays there, he'll fall asleep. He forces his body upright. 

T'Challa is waiting in the ante-room. "You have a plan?"

"Yes. The backpack will be at my apartment in D.C." He gives T'Challa the keys. "Sam is there occasionally."

"We will figure it out, Steven." 

"Thank you. I owe you more that I can repay even in my very long lifetime."

T'Challa laughs. "Make sure you live long enough to keep saying that, my friend. Now, you should rest before you return to James's side. He is in good hands."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has the Winter Soldier been vanquished? Is Bucky's backpack returned to him? What will Bucky's returning memory mean to Steve and Bucky's friendship? Only one more chapter to answer everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for being so patient. There is one more chapter to wrap this up. I hope you enjoy reading this one. A lot happens, including some sexy times so the rating is definitely explicit. I hope to have the next chapter written and posted before I leave on vacation in two weeks.

Chapter 6

Steve feels like he's only been asleep for a few minutes when he hears his door chime. He sits bolt upright, blinking in the pale gray light of dawn. He's slept for more than six hours. He pulls on a t-shirt and opens the door. There is an attendant wearing hospital whites standing there. Steve's heart immediately begins pounding. "What's wrong? Is it James Barnes?

The man shakes his head. "Captain, there is nothing wrong. Sergeant Barnes is awake. He is asking for you."

Steve sweeps a hand over his ruffled hair. "I'll be there in few minutes. Tell him I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir."

Steve gets dressed hurriedly, his mind racing over the possibilities. What will he find? The old Bucky he grew up with, the one he knew over the last weeks? The one hiding the Winter Soldier under a panicked veneer of shame and fear? He has no idea. But Bucky had asked for him, so that was a good sign, right?

He lopes down the corridors to the medical wing. He pushes through the doors, and pauses. He had no idea where Bucky is. He turns to the nurse there. "James Barnes?"

She nods. "He is in room twelve, six doors to the left."

"Thank you," he manages to toss over his shoulder as his long strides carry him down the corridor. Room twelve has an actual door with glass sidelights. Steve peers in. The head of Bucky's bed has been raised, and he's propped up on pillows cradling his head. His eyes are closed, but Steve can tell from the set of his shoulders, that he's awake. He opens the door, and hopes he's hiding his own trepidation. 

"Hey, Buck." He doesn't know what else to say.

"Stevie." He smiles, and Steve's heart just about melts in his chest. Bucky looks like he did before the war, before he was captured by HYDRA. He looks _young_ , at peace. His eyes are as calm and clear as the ocean on a still summer day. "Are you gonna just stand there staring at me?"

"H-how are you?" Steve stutters. "I mean, how do you feel?"

"Hungry." 

"Well, as much as I'd like to get you Chinese take out, I don't think they'd deliver here."

Bucky laughs and winces. "Ow, my head hurts when I laugh."

Steve's knees give out and he staggers to the chair. "My God, Buck. It's been so long --"

"Since what?"

"Since I heard you laugh like that." 

Bucky tilts his head. "I guess it's been awhile since I had a reason … " He pauses and falls silent. "I think he's gone, Steve. The _Soldat_. I don't feel him anymore. He was always like at itch under my skin, ya know? Like something foreign and ugly was poisoning me. Even when I wasn't him, he was always there, and I knew it." He moves against the restraints uncomfortably, trying to stretch out his muscles. "Still trussed up like my Ma's Sunday chicken," he sighs.

"I wish I could let you out of the restraints," Steve says softly. "I will, soon."

"I know. Dr. Kani told me I need to be tested again as soon as I'm healed up. I'm not too thrilled with bedpans." He makes a small grimace, "But I've had worse."

"Bucky … how much to do you remember?"

"A lot. Some of it's good. I remember Brooklyn." He smiles. "I remember when you were a lot smaller. I remember lemonade and ice cream at Coney Island. What do you remember?"

"I remember you rescued me from a lot of bullies. Black eyes and aching ribs, and being sick."

"Geez, Stevie. Don't you remember the good times?"

Steve takes Bucky's hand. "Of course, I do. I remember every time I think of you. You always took care of me. You followed me into alleys, and beat up bullies, and you … you took care of me when I was sick. I remember Coney Island, and hot dogs, and lemonade, and ice cream. And the time you made me ride on the coaster … "

Bucky makes a soft chuff of laughter. "Yeah, sorry about that. You were sick as a dog after."

"I was!" Steve laughs. "Of all the things to remember, you pick that one?"

"Aww … Didn't I take you home? Cleaned you up and spent money on ginger ale to soothe your stomach, then laid down with you and stayed all night to make sure you were alright."

"You did." Steve runs his fingers through Bucky's soft hair, careful of the bandages. "I've never forgotten, not one thing. I love you."

"You're an idiot," Bucky says, but his words are slurring as he relaxes under Steve stroking his hair. "Feels good. Makes my head hurt less."

"Then I'll stay as long as you need me. You took care of me, Bucky. It's my turn to take care of you." He kisses Bucky's forehead. "You can sleep."

"I've slept for hours," Bucky's protest is marred by a yawn. 

"The more you rest, the faster the serum will heal you."

"Stay?"

"Aways." He keeps his hand on Bucky's, watching his peaceful face. He wonders if Natasha has found the backpack. He wants to ask T'Challa if there is any news, he wants to will time to go faster. More than anything else, he's where he wants to be. Everything else can wait.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  


It's not a long wait. T'Challa enters so silently, that if he hadn't deliberately scuffed the soles of his shoes against the tile floor, Steve wouldn't have known he was there. He turns in the chair. "Is there news?"

"We have retrieved the backpack from your apartment. It is on the way."

Steve takes a deep breath of relief. "Thank you."

T'Challa pulls up the second chair and sits next to Steve. "You said there were notebooks?"

"Notebooks, small pieces of paper. A few trinkets, I suppose. I don't even know what was written in them. Maybe memories? I only know it was important to him." 

"I hope the memories are good ones."

Steve reads the subtext. "He was living quietly all the time he was writing in those notebooks. I doubt he would risk triggering the Soldier. He knows those words -- why do you think he fought so hard when Zemo started reciting them?"

"Because the Soldier could have been an ally."

Steve shakes his head. "The Soldier was anathema to everything Bucky believed -- to the man I know now. The Soldier would never have agreed to spend the remainder of his very long life in stasis, or asked us to kill him if it became necessary. That is all Bucky. He's always been a self-sacrificing idiot."

T'Challa laughs. "It also describes you, Steven." 

There really is no answer for that. Steve rubs his eyes. "I wish …" He stops, not able to find the words he needs. 

T'Challa rises and rests his hand on Steve's shoulder. "I will let you know when the package arrives."

"Thank you." Steve looks away from Bucky long enough to nod at T'Challa. When he turns back, Bucky is awake. 

"You two have a nice chat?"

"How much did you hear?"

"The part about being a self-sacrificing idiot."

"I'm really not."

Bucky laughs. "You are!"

"Not."

"I grew up with you, Brooklyn. I was always rescuing you from bullies because you couldn't help getting in their faces to protect somebody else, or stand up for what what right. I always admired you for that."

"You always stood up for me. I can't do any less for you."

Bucky looks both annoyed and amused. "See? There you go again. You'll be the death of me, yet. Rogers."

"Don't say that," Steve whispers, low and intense. "Please."

Bucky sighs. "Tell me what it was like, waking up after 70 years. I mean, they took me out of stasis periodically to update what I know, what was happening, to train me on weapons and technology. But you just opened your eyes and …"

"Everything was changed, Buck." He starts talking, finally having someone who understands where he had come from and the jarring reality he had waked to find. He tells him about running out into Times Square and seeing all the lights, the traffic, the teeming masses of people and cars. New York had always been kind of crazy, but not like that. The language had changed. The clothing, the food, _everything_ was different.

Steve pauses. "The first time I heard a jet coming in for a landing at Kennedy, I threw myself on the ground. People thought I was suffering from PTSD. Technology? My God, Buck. My hands still shake when Tony updates my cell phone."

Bucky laughs. "Not weird at all, Stevie." 

"I'm still catching up on music and movies."

"Mmm. I'll join you there. It wasn't like HYDRA was waking me up to watch the latest hot show." 

For the first time, Steve can smile. "Maybe we can catch up together. Binge watch on Netflix."

"Netflix and chill?" He laughs at Steve's baffled expression. "You really need to get out more, Stevie!"

"What?" 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "I've been living in Romania -- not exactly the pop culture capital of the world, and even I know about that." 

Judging from the heightened color on Bucky's cheeks and the way his eyes are dancing, tells Steve all he needs to know about 'Netflix and chill.' He hides his face, hoping to disguise his own blush. "If hadI said 'sure, why not?' What would you have done?"

It's Bucky's turn to blush. "Ask me that when we're sure I won't suddenly decide to kill you."

Dr. Kane takes that moment to come into the room. He has a table in his hands and is tapping at it at a rapid pace. He pauses and looks at Bucky. "You are doing well?"

Bucky moves uncomfortably. "Be better if I could move."

Kani smiles. "Captain, if I may examine my patient?"

"Sure. I'll just be …" he gestures vaguely to the hall and gives Bucky an encouraging nod.

His watch says that the examination only takes 10 minutes, but it seems to be an eternity to Steve. He can hear Kani's questions, the Bucky's quiet answers. He checks his phone to see if there are any messages from Natasha. Nothing. Not that he expected more since the call had been made from T'Challa's secure line. 

Dr. Kani speaks to him from the doorway and Steve straightens up, both dreading and hopeful. "Yes?"

"The healing powers of the serum are quite remarkable. Sergeant Barnes has asked to be tested to see if the triggers have been removed."

Steve's eyes widen. "That's what he wants, but is he ready, medically?"

"Yes." 

"Now?"

"I think it would be best to get it over with. Sergeant Barnes is ready, but are you?"

"Give me an hour," Steve says with a lot more strength than he feels. "Can I see him now?"

"Of course." 

Steve returns. Bucky is sitting up, the restraints across his chest removed. He look at Steve as if he's afraid of what Steve will say. Steve doesn't know what to say. He goes to the bed and wraps Bucky in his arms. Bucky shivers against him, and Steve feels his hot tears soaking through his shirt. "You don't have to do this today," Steve says, hoping Bucky will agree. 

"It's better if I do. I can't live like this indefinitely. I just want it to be over, one way or another."

"I'll be there," Steve says. "I won't leave your side, not for a second."

"If … if it doesn't work?"

"I'll keep my promise," Steve's voice breaks. "I can't lose you again," he rasps.

Bucky wipes his eyes. "It'll be okay, Stevie. No matter what, we'll be okay. You'll never lose me. I'll always be there with you." He sighs, "Let's get this show on the road." He hits the call button.

"See you in the OR." Then because he can't stand it any longer, he moves in and kisses Bucky on the mouth, on his so tempting lips. "Love you."

"Hold that thought until this is over," Bucky smiles against his lips. "I'm ready."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

They're in the operating room for one reason alone. The positioning of the laser that Kani will use if the _Soldat_ isn't vanquished. Bucky's back in the halo brace and has been given just enough sedation to keep him calm; even with the drugs, Steve can feel the tremors running through his body. 

The translator is there, behind a plate glass window, speaking through a microphone. He looks scared. Steve can't blame him. They're all scared for their own reasons. To Steve's surprise, T'Challa joins him. He's wearing jeans and a light sweater, not his armored suit, but there is no doubt in Steve's mind that he's there for one reason - to be sure that if the Soldier isn't vanquished, that there will be no danger to his kingdom. He looks from Steve, to Bucky. "Are you ready, Sergeant?"

"Been ready for a while. Can we do this now?" His voice is slightly slurred from the sedatives they are pumping into the IV. It's the only way to guarantee that the serum won't neutralize the drugs in Bucky's bloodstream. 

Kani nods at the translator. "We are ready. Please begin."

The translator speaks rapidly, no reason for time between words. 

_"Longing_  
Rusted  
Furnace  
Daybreak  
Seventeen  
Benign  
Nine  
Homecoming  
One  
Freight Car" 

There is a moment of weighted silence. All of them are focused on Bucky like he's a live bomb about to detonate. Bucky's eyes open wide. "Steve?" He grabs Steve's hand so tightly that he leaves bruises. "Steve!" His voice is a mix of panic and wonderment. 

"What is it? What do you feel?"

Bucky's lips part. "Nothing. I don't feel anything." He sobs, "He's gone. The Soldier. He's gone! I remember everything, but he's gone … I'm free!"

Steve is weeping, too. Tears are flowing down his cheeks. "You're sure?"

Kani, who has been monitoring the EEG is smiling broadly. " _I'm sure_." He tears off the strip and gives it to Bucky. "This is you. Not him. Not a blip." He removes the halo brace and nods to Steve. "Take off the restraints, Captain."

Steve's fingers fumble as he releases the clamps. Bucky tries to sit, and falls back. "I'm kinda dizzy."

"It's the sedative," Kani soothes him. "It's been several days since you've been upright. Can you move your arm?"

Bucky lifts his right hand. He turns it, closes it into a fist, opens it like a flower. "Seems okay, doc."

Kani gently removes the cannula inserted in Bucky's arm and bandages the puncture. "I imagine that will heal in an hour or so, given the serum."

"So, what happens now?" Bucky asks.

"Back to recovery for an hour, then if you can be upright without falling over, you will be released from the medical facility for the night. Back tomorrow morning for a few quick tests, and then --"

T'Challa interjects. "And then you will be a free man, at least while you remain in Wakanda as my guest." He smiles gently at Bucky. "I hope you will accept my hospitality and perhaps the aid of my bionics lab?"

Bucky blinks. "Bionics?"

"Of course, if you choose to live without an arm, that is your decision, and there is time for you to think about it."

Bucky nods. "Thank you. I will think about it. Right now, I just want to get out of the hospital." He looks up at Steve. "Come back in an hour, and we'll walk out of here together."

Steve can't help smiling brilliantly. "You bet." He touches Bucky's hand and leaves with T'Challa. He follows the King to his offices, not certain where else he should go. Everything seems to be catching up to him and he feels like he's about to break into a million fragments of hopes and memories. 

T'Challa hands him a glass of water that has a slightly milky hue. Steve sniffs it and T'Challa laughs. "It is from a tree, similar to a coconut palm, but that grows in higher altitudes. It has energizing and replenishing properties. Try it."

Steve takes a sip. The taste is pleasant, light. He takes a deeper swallow and relaxes back in is chair. T'Challa sits in the other armchair. Steve sighs. "I -- we can never thank you enough. Without you, without your doctors and all they work they did to save a man who could kill --"

"James was a victim. A prisoner of war who was tortured, mutilated, shamed, brainwashed," T'Challa's anger is palpable. "Yet, he is still human. I have seen that. I have seen him smile, and weep, and shake with fear. It would take a man with a much harder heart than mine, to deny him the chance to reclaim a life he had lost."

Steve doesn't know what to say. He's been so blessed. A man from the past with nothing, he's found family, friends, loyalty, and now he had Bucky. It's almost more than he can bear. "Not everyone would be so generous."

"My father would be the first to offer sanctuary. I am only fulfilling his legacy."

Steve finishes his drink. "I'm going to clean up and get some clothes for Bucky. Will you be with me?"

"No. You deserve some privacy. I am certain James will be happy to away from the fishbowl, as you call it."

Steve can feel his ears pink up and hopes T'Challa doesn't notice. He still feels as if he should bow, or salute when he leaves the King's company; such is T'Challa's dignity and bearing. He manages to restrain himself, limiting his farewell to a nod. 

He showers and feels one hundred percent better. Bucky will need something to wear that isn't hospital pajamas. T'Challa had provided them with clothing; jeans, t-shirts, the basic necessities. He would have offered more, but Steve had refused. He didn't know how long they could remain in Wakanda safely without jeopardizing the Kingdom. He wouldn't put anything past Ross. He wanted time for Bucky to recover, to regain his confidence that the Winter Soldier programming was gone, to discover who he _is_ , to discover what _they_ are.

He's just about to leave the room, when there is a knock on the door. "T'Challa is standing there, holding Bucky's battered backpack. "This just arrived."

Steve takes it. It's lighter than he had expected. "Thank you."

"I hope the contents are intact." 

"We'll know soon enough." He puts the backpack on the sofa and he and T'Challa go to the hospital wing, where T'Challa leaves him with an invitation to stop by later. Steve is looking forward to being alone with Bucky. His Bucky, not the alter-ego HYDRA had crammed into his brain. He knows Bucky will have changed as he has changed, neither are the boys who went off to war. Time has changed them both, hardened them and hurt them. Yet, Steve can't wait to discover all the nuances of this new Bucky. He hopes Bucky feels the same way about him. 

He pauses for a moment outside Bucky's door, then goes inside. Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his right hand, opening and closing it. He's frowning slightly, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. He looks up when Steve enters. 

Bucky gives him such a blinding smile that Steve almost staggers back from the force of it. He hasn't seen that beautiful smile in a very long time. "Please tell me you're getting me out of here."

"I'm getting you out of here." Steve smiles back, and it _feels_ like he hasn't smiled like that ever. His heart gives a thump in his chest. He holds out the clothes he brought with him. "So, get dressed."

Bucky takes the clothes. Steve, after considering jeans, had gone with black sweatpants and a plain gray t-shirt, things that Bucky could manage one-handed. Bucky emerges dressed in the new clothes. His hair is still a mess; half long, half- shaven, matted. He glances in the mirror and grimaces. "I'm a mess."

"We can take care of that later. You must be hungry."

"Starving," Bucky grins. "That's one thing that hasn't changed."

"I know. I can go for a long time without food, but when I have the opportunity to eat, it's embarrassing how much I can stoke away."

"Let's go. I hope it's a long time before I see the inside of a hospital again."

"You and me both."

Bucky slings his right arm around Steve's shoulder as they walk down the quiet passages of the palace. Steve opens the door to their rooms and they step across the threshold. Bucky sighs. "I kinda wish this was our place in Brooklyn."

"You hated that flat!" Steve laughs. "Too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter --" Then Bucky's lips are on his and oh, he doesn't realize how much he's wanted this, missed this. Seventy years is a long time to wait for the one person whose mouth was made for yours. 

"Bucky," he finally manages to gasp. 

Bucky releases him, doubt flaring in his eyes. "Sorry, I thought I remembered … of course I can't trust my damn shit for brains." 

"No! Bucky, listen to me. You're not wrong." His cheeks are flaming. "We did kiss, the night before you left for basic. We kissed and then we both knew it couldn't go anywhere with you heading off to war. So, that was it. Then everything happened and we were both gone."

"Oh." Bucky collapses on the sofa. "I'm sorry."

"I wanted more," Steve admits. "I wanted everything. I still do."

"You were in love with Peggy Carter."

"I was. But we weren't ever meant to be together. You're the one who came back, Bucky. Times change, people's perceptions change. But what I feel for you … it's been my constant ever since the day on the bridge."

"I don't deserve that, Stevie."

"I think you do." Steve turns Bucky's face to his. "We deserve it." He runs a thumb along Bucky's mouth. "My God, Buck. Your lips." He leans in, and this time, the kiss is perfect. Bucky sighs and his head rests on Steve's shoulder. 

"I thought I imagined it. I couldn't trust myself, my memories. I still can't, about so many things."

"Maybe this will help." Steve reaches over and hands Bucky the backpack. "I can't guarantee it's untouched, but it's all I could do."

Bucky takes the backpack in shaking hands. "I can't believe you did this." He starts working on the zipper, a little awkward with one hand until Steve steadies it so Bucky can tug the zipper down.

"What's in there? State secrets?"

Bucky shakes his head. "My secrets." He opens it and spills the contents on the coffee table. Dozens of tiny folded papers spill out. "When I was on the run, after the programming was breaking down, I started writing out what I could remember. At the end of the day, I'd take them out and try to put them together like pieces of a puzzle. Sometimes they'd make a complete picture, other times, they were just fragments. He flicks several over to Steve. "Take a look."

Steve opens one. "Hot sun, sweet taste. Tar. Where?" He smiles. "That's an easy one. "Coney Island. Cotton Candy. On the roof. Do you remember that day?" 

Bucky's eyes are wide. "Tell me more?"

"Sure." Steve settles against the back of the sofa and stretches his arm out so Bucky can curl up next to him. "You said you remembered Coney Island?"

"Yeah. I mean, I remember but more like impressions. The last time I was there it was cold, deserted. I was meeting an old Russian mobster. He wanted to get rid of his enemies. I told him that wasn't what the Winter Soldier did, and walked away. He got lucky. I could've killed him."

"Why didn't you?"

Bucky's brow creases. "I don't know. He was like some old boxer, all scarred up and still standing in the ring. He deserved better. His enemies weren't so fortunate."

Steve shivers, reminds himself that it wasn't Bucky pulling the trigger, and takes a breath. "Okay, back to the summer. You and me, we'd save our pennies -- yeah, really. Pennies. And we'd go there and buy cotton candy. We'd climb up a fire escape on one of the ballroom buildings and sit up there, eating our sticky candy, then when we finished, and the roof was too hot, we'd go down to the shore and you'd jump in the ocean."

"What about you?"

"Couldn't. I'd wade up to my knees."

"Yeah, the water was so cold that your lungs would seize up." Bucky smiles. "Thank you. I guess I can file that away with the good stuff."

"We can do more."

"No. I want to stay with the good memory tonight." 

"I'll go through every one with you, good and bad, until we put that puzzle together."

"I know you will, Stevie." Bucky nestles closer. "Can we go to bed now?"

"Once you wash your hair," Steve smiles. "C'mon. I'll help."

Bucky snorts. "If you wanted to get me naked, there's better ways of doing it."

"Actually, there aren't." Steve pulls Bucky up and they go into the bedroom. 

He runs the water to a comfortable temperature, then helps Bucky strip. He touches the edge of the binding on Bucky's stump. "Waterproof?"

"It won't matter. There is no more power supply." He looks away, as if he's ashamed. "I never saw myself without the arm. I mean, I knew it was amputated, but when I woke up, I had the arm. Now, I feel all lopsided and wrong."

"You're beautiful," Steve breathes. His hands rest on Bucky's hips, the sharp iliac crest beneath his thumbs. "You're a miracle."

"You're still a sap," Bucky says and nudges Steve's chin. "C'mon and kiss me."

"No, no … If I do that, we'll never get your hair washed. Don't distract me." He gently shoves Bucky under the warm spray, strips and joins him. They wash each other, and the slide of skin against skin, muscle and hard bone, wet lips kissing across smooth skin, makes Steve dizzy. He steps back, and squeezes shampoo into his palm. He turns Bucky so that his back is to the spray and gently, oh, so gently, washes his hair. The surgical wounds have healed, but he doesn't want to pull on the still tender scars. Bucky sighs and burrows into Steve's palm. 

"Feels so good."

"I'm sure T'Challa has somebody who can cut your hair, make it a little less punk."

Bucky laughs. "Thought you were the punk and I was the jerk."

Steve does give a playful tug on a hank of hair not near the scars and Bucky's eyes widen. He blushes. "Steve … " 

"You like that?" Steve tilts Bucky's head back and rinses the shampoo out. He drizzles conditioner into his palm and works it through Bucky's hair until it rinses smooth as silk through his fingers. Water beads on Bucky's face and Steve runs his fingers over Bucky's dark stubble. "I could shave this," he suggests. 

Bucky's eyes are wide and dark. "Yes." 

Steve steps out of the shower and finds shaving cream and a new razor. He hits the control for steam to keep them warm without a full spray of water and lathers Bucky's face. "You're sure?"

"I trust you, if you trust me." There is the faintest doubt in Bucky's voice.

"Always. My whole life." 

At the first scrape of the razor, Bucky gasps. Steve stops. "What?"

"Nothing. Don't stop. God, don't stop." His eyelids flutter, and Steve suddenly understands. It isn't fear, or doubt. It's sheer, stunning arousal. Steve steps closer, his erection pressing against Bucky's equally hard cock. He continues shaving, determined to finish quickly because, in truth, he doesn't think either of them will last much longer, and he doesn't want to make love to Bucky for the first time up against a shower wall. He wants him in bed, curved over him, filling him. 

He finishes, rinses the last of the lather off Bucky's face, revealing him fully. The rise of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth, the cleft in his chin, the sharp, heroic jawline. He's stunning; age and care carving strength and maturity into the boyish features Steve remembers in his dreams. He turns off the steam and they step out of the shower. Steve wraps them both in one of the suite's enormous bath towels. He dries Bucky first, kneeling to dry his legs and kissing his cock, wanting to take it in his mouth, but hesitating.

Bucky's hands clasp Steve's head. "Please, Stevie. I want this." Bucky's voice is hoarse with arousal. Steve laps the welling cum, then stands to kiss Bucky, giving his taste back. 

"We're going to bed," Steve says. "We are going to make love and sleep together, and in the morning we'll make love again and then eat the biggest breakfast we've ever had."

"Sounds like a plan." Bucky tugs Steve to the bed, and they put the plan in motion. 

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is ready to go home, but is Bucky? First, Steve has to convince the Avengers and UN Security Council that Bucky is no longer a threat, and indeed, may be an ally. First. He'll have to talk to Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought this would be the last chapter, but you all have been so patient that I decided to post what I've written and then just add another chapter that I hope will wrap things up.

Chapter 7

Steve wakes in the night, aware that Bucky is no longer next to him. He gets up, careless of his nakedness and pads into the living area. The window is open and a soft, perfumed breeze flutters the sheer curtains. They flow around the shape of Bucky's body in the moonlight. His head is thrown back, exposing the length of his neck, the clean jaw, the strength and beauty of his body. His damaged left side faces away from Steve, so he looks whole, complete. Steve's gaze roams down Bucky's torso, the rake of his ribs, the muscles of his buttocks and thighs. He closes his eyes, taking a mental photograph, because he wants so much to draw this, and hopes he can remember colors, lines, shadows and the silver-gilt of Bucky's skin. 

He's tried not to make a sound, but Bucky turns towards him. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

Steve stands next to him, sets a hand on his shoulder. Bucky's skin is cool and he shivers beneath Steve's touch. Steve moves closer. "Come back to bed. You're cold."

Bucky laughs a bit under his breath, but without humor. "Remember who you're talking to, Stevie. Remember who I used to be. _Zimniy Soldat_. I shouldn't feel cold."

"You're not him. Not anymore." He wraps strong, warm arms around Bucky. "Come to bed. I'll keep you warm." Bucky just sighs and leans into him. He nods mutely, and they go back to the bedroom. It takes almost an hour before Steve can feel the tension leave Bucky's body and he falls into a solid sleep. 

Steve is awake before Bucky, and he carefully and quietly slips from the bed and gets dressed. Bucky murmurs something and burrows deeper into the pillows. Steve smiles, remembering Bucky back when he would do the same thing on Sunday mornings when Steve left for church. "Shh. Stay in bed." Bucky murmurs something that sounds like "Gwan church," and Steve smiles. "Sure, Buck." He kisses Bucky's hair and receives a half-hearted, clumsy swat in return.

Steve puts on his running clothes and steps outside. T'Challa has a course that winds through the palace grounds; four laps to a mile. It's a short, but effective workout, interspersed with strength-training stations. Steve does five straight miles and is about to begin another five with the workout stations, when he's aware of the fall of steps tracing his. He turns to see T'Challa, also in workout clothes jogging towards him. 

"Good morning, Captain," he greets Steve and slows to match Steve's paces. "Do you mind company?"

"Not at all. Five miles with stations?"

"Perhaps three. I do have other duties." T'Challa smiles and they begin to make their first circuit. "How is James this morning?"

"Asleep. He had a restless night." Steve can feel his ears burning and blurts out, "He had a panic attack."

"Ah. Perhaps not so unusual give what he has been through. He will be seeing Dr. Kani today, no?"

"Later, yes." 

"Good. And you?"

"Me? I'm fine," Steve lies. "Mostly." He's grateful when they reach the first training station. He and T'Challa work through it easily, without speaking. 

When they resume running, T'Challa speaks again. "When he is cleared medically, you --"

Steve has been dreading this. "We'll leave. I know protecting him is a problem --"

"That is not what I was going to say, my friend. I was going to tell you that you are both welcome to stay here as long as necessary. With your permission, however, I would like to send Dr. Kani's medical reports on the surgery to Mr. Stark. I believe they will be helpful in clearing James' name."

"I can't ask you --"

"Ask me?" T'Challa laughs. "You have not asked anything of me that I haven't given of my own free will. James has suffered enough for six lifetimes. It is only just that we give him one life without fear of persecution, cruelty and punishment for crimes he did not commit of his own free will."

They are at the next station, and Steve cranks out twenty-five pull-ups easily, which T'Challa matches with minimal effort. Steve dries his hands on the towel hung over the bar. "I'd like to take the files to Tony personally."

"You would leave James here?"

"Until I have the guarantee from the UN that we are both free men, yes."

"He will not take that easily."

"No." Steve shakes his head. "But he'll agree eventually." In truth, he's not looking forward to the argument Bucky will put up when Steve tells him. He feels he's the best bet to make the case for Bucky's return to the world. 

"When will you leave"

"As soon as possible." Before Bucky can dissuade him. Before Steve has another night to savor the asylum T'Challa has given them, before another dawn of waking up to Bucky sleeping in his arms. None of that will make it easier to leave. 

"I can have a jet for you by noon."

It doesn't give Steve much time, but that's probably a good thing. "The files?"

"I will send them to you."

"Thank you, T'Challa. There aren't word, really, to express my gratitude."

"Words are feeble compared to what I see in you and James. It has been an honor to be able to shelter you." He offers his hand, and Steve takes it in his, as he blinks away tears. 

"I guess I'd better pack," Steve manages to say with relative normalcy. If he walks away a bit faster than his usual measured paces, only T'Challa sees it.

When he returns to the room, Bucky is gone, leaving a note reminding Steve that he's going to have a session with Dr. Kani, and not to come. For once, Steve is grateful, not hurt. He strips off his exercise clothes and showers, dressing in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. He hasn't worn a cap since he arrived in Wakanda, but he rustles through his closet until he finds one. He quickly packs a carry-on with a change of clothes and toiletries. 

He can't, he really can't leave without talking to Bucky, no matter how much he's dreading it. He sends a quick text to Natasha telling her he's on his way home. Then he waits. An hour later, Bucky comes through the door. He looks exhausted, but without the nervous tension Steve has grown used to seeing in him before the surgery.

"Rough session?" Steve asks as Bucky drops down next to him on the couch and rests his head on Steve's shoulder. 

"Bit. He asked about the arm again."

"And?"

"It would be easier," Bucky sighs. "But I don't want a weapon. I don't want to do that anymore."

"Buck, it's an arm. Your mind is clear. You choose how to use it. It doesn't control you."

"I know."

Steve takes a breath. "You should think about it while I'm gone."

Bucky stills and straightens, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "Gone?"

"Just for a few days."

"I'll come with you."

"You can't. I'm going to New York. I want to go home, and we can't go there until we're no longer hunted."

"You can't do that alone!" Bucky's anger is making his voice hoarse. "Won't take me a minute to pack --" He stands up.

"No." Steve says flatly and reaches out to him. "You're not ready. You need to finish healing. Keep up your sessions with Dr. Kani, make a decision about your arm. You can do that while I make certain we'll both be safe." He pauses and then adds almost plaintively, "Don't you want to go home, Bucky?"

"I don't know what 'home,' is." 

"That's why I have to go to New York. So you and I can go back -- maybe to Brooklyn, maybe somewhere else … but we've earned the right to have a home." 

Bucky still looks unconvinced, but he's also lost the tension slowly drains from his body. "You've always been stubborn as a mule, so I know I can't change your mind. Still doesn't keep me from thinking this is a bad idea."

"I'll be fine. Natasha will keep her eye on me, and T'Challa will keep an eye on you. If all goes well, I should be back in less than a week."

Bucky stands up and crosses over to Steve. He loops his arm around Steve's waist and rests his head on Steve's chest. "Don't do anything stupid."

"How could I? You're keeping all the stupid here, right?" He is rewarded by true laughter from Bucky, which is all he's ever wanted to hear. "Less than a week, Remember that."

"I won't forget. That's a promise I'm holding you to."

"Me, too, Buck. Me, too." He kisses Bucky quick and hard, afraid that if he lingers, he won't have the courage to leave. "Gotta pack." In less than an hour, he's on T'Challa's private jet to New York.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made regarding Bucky's future. Steve and Tony have an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought I'd never get to this point! I've been battling an absent muse, a malfunctioning laptop, and writing on a iPad. Finally, the muse returned, the laptop is fixed and all is well. Just the Epilogue to wrap this up. Thank you all for your patience!
> 
> I did go through this, but any errors I blame on trying to type on an iPad tiny keyboard. Also, it's been years since I've been to DC, so I hope using the Willard is accurate. If not, I apologize.

Chapter 8

Steve returns to New York in the midst of stifling summer heat that rises in waves from the streets and sidewalks of Brooklyn. He could have gone to the Avengers tower now that he and the others are no longer fugitives and slept in air conditioned comfort; instead, he takes a taxi to his apartment in Brooklyn. Not that it's exactly spartan, not like back in the thirties, but it has a lived-in worn comfort that feels like home. Avengers tower has always felt like a five-star hotel, luxurious and decadent where Steve is a pampered guest. Here, he can put on a pair of jogging pants, a worn, soft t-shirt, and pad around in bare feet. 

There's a note, written in Natasha's hand, on his refrigerator. _I restocked. You owe me._. Steve smiles as he surveys the shelves. He scrambles up eggs, makes toast, and heats up a frozen apple turnover in his toaster oven, topping it with butter pecan ice cream. He can't quite feel guilty for avoiding Tony as he falls into bed an hour later. Tomorrow will come soon enough. He does think about Bucky and wishes he could talk to him, text him, anything. He falls asleep, comforted that Bucky is safe with T'Challa.

To his surprise, he sleeps until dawn. It's early enough for a run through Prospect Park. with a cap covering his hair, and his three days of stubble, he doesn't stand out among the other early risers. He keeps himself to a slow, steady pace and limits himself to five easy miles. He showers, changes into jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, snatches up his motorcycle helmet and texts JARVIS that's he's on his way to the tower.

He doesn't know what to expect when he arrives; security guards detaining him, Vision, looking at him with sad disappointment, Tony, hiding his feelings with flippant disregard for what had passed between them. He certainly doesn't expect Pepper to run to him and give him a tight hug. "It's so good to see you!" She exclaims. "I've been so worried."

Steve blinks at her. "Are you and Tony …?"

She doesn't meet his eyes at first, then sighs and looks at him. "We've reached a _detante_ professionally. Personally? We're working on it." She brushes her bangs off her forehead. "What are you doing here?"

Steve takes a breath. "I came to see Tony."

"He's missed you."

"Well, I don't know about that," Steve lifts a wry shoulder. "But it's important."

Pepper links her arm with his. "We'll go together."

Tony is in his lab, looking as at home in his ragged jeans and ancient t-shirt as he had in the tuxedo he had worn the last time Steve had seen him. He pushes his goggles up and grins. "Well, the prodigal returns."

The familiar urge to snark back rises in Steve's chest, but he takes a breath. "It's not a social visit."

There is a brief flash of something like guilt in Tony's eyes. He pulls off his mechanic's gloves. "Business, then."

Pepper breaks in quietly. "Will you stay for dinner, Steve?"

"I don't know."

"Don't mind me," Tony says. "She's in charge of my social life." The words are softened as he smiles at Pepper. "You're always welcome."

Privately, Steve doubts that is true, or will be true after he talks to Tony. Pepper leans in and kisses his cheek. "Until dinner."

When she's gone, Steve asks Tony if he can use a terminal to retrieve the files T'Challa had sent him. When they're downloaded, he opens them and stands aside for Tony. It seems to take forever. Steve forces himself to be still, not to pace or bolt from the lab.

Finally, Tony rubs his eyes and steps back. "He's completely deprogrammed?"

"Yes."

A muscle jumps in Tony's jaw. "I still can't forgive him."

"You can't forgive the assassin, the Winter Soldier. The man, Bucky Barnes, you don't even know." 

"What do you want me to do? Welcome him with open arms?"

"I want you to give him a chance."

"That's not up to me. I don't control the UN, and right now, I'm pretty high on Ross's shit list."

"The UN still listen to you, Tony. They've got too much invested in your tech to snub you completely."

Tony laughs. "Mercenary bastards. But the person you need to convince is our old friend Thaddeus Ross."

"He'll never let Bucky be free. He'll either execute him or lock him up someplace worse than the Raft for the rest of Bucky's life. I can't let that happen."

Tony sighs. "I know somebody we can trust. Somebody Ross doesn't trust 100 percent, but who he'll listen to."

"Who?"

"That, Cap, is the biggest secret of my many secrets. I'd trust this man with Pepper's life, if that's good enough for you."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." Tony makes a move as if reaching out to take Steve's arm, but the gesture stops short. "Listen, Steve. I know how you feel about James. I don't understand it, but I know."

"There isn't anything to understand," Steve sighs. "He's been with me my whole life. You think he's been gone for seventy years -- but to me?" He shrugs. "Time is irrelevant."

Tony laughs. "Bruce could argue that point, but me? I'm just a mechanical engineer with a gift for making money."

There isn't anything else to say, Steve realizes. "Thanks, Tony. I'll be at my place in Brooklyn if you need me."

"You could stay here."

"I know, and thank you for the invitation, but I think I need my own home. Give my regrets to Pepper about dinner. He gives Tony a wave that is not quite a salute, and leaves. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

He's walking from the train to his apartment, when the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise in an instinctive reaction to being followed. He stops in a coffee shop and orders an iced latte. As he stands at the counter, the feeling grows stronger, but so does his feeling that he's not in danger. He orders a second latte with cinnamon and vanilla, then turns around. There is a small woman wearing a ball cap sitting at a table. Steve grins and carries the coffee over to the table. 

"That's a pretty sorry attempt at surveillance," he says and Natasha takes off her cap, releasing her fiery hair. 

"I'm just watching out for you."

"I don't need a bodyguard. As far as I know, the target is off my back."

Natasha sighs. "See, that's what I mean, Rogers. There is _always_ a target on your back."

"Why are you following me?"

"Because I'm your friend. Because I worry about you. Your head is so deep into this Barnes thing that you're not watching out for yourself." She pauses to take another sip of her iced coffee. "What can you tell me?"

"You know I took James' files to Tony."

"Please." She rolls her eyes. "Do you think I'm an amateur?" She stands up. "I'm hungry." She strides across the shop and returns to the table a few minutes later with two morning glory muffins. "Here. You need to eat."

"I had breakfast," Steve objects.

"How many calories a day do you need to maintain? Five thousand, at least."

"I'm fine."

"Just eat and then we'll take a walk."

Steve doesn't like to be ordered around, being the one who's usually giving the orders, but Natasha could give orders to Vladimir Putin and he'd obey. He sighs. "Fine." He eats and Natasha puts the second muffin in front of him, and goes to buy another for herself. 

"So … Tony."

"He's looking over the files, but I think he's maybe fifty-percent sure that Bucky isn't a danger any longer. For God's sake Natasha, Buck doesn't even have a prosthetic he's so afraid he'll … I don't know, squash a butterfly."

"Are you convinced?"

"Absolutely. I watched the surgery, I watched the testing afterwards, those triggers are gone."

"What if there are others we don't know about?"

Steve blanches. "Is that possible?"

Natasha shrugs "I don't know. HYDRA did so many horrible things." Her lashes shield her eyes. "They put a sliver of ice in my heart and I feel it every day."

"You fight it, and so will Bucky if it comes to that."

"I'm not the one you have to convince." She gets up from the table. 

They walk the streets of Brooklyn, so different, and yet so familiar to Steve. He wishes Bucky could be walking with him. He doesn't know if that will ever happen; they could stay in Wakanda or wander the world incognito. Brooklyn is in their blood, though, even if Bucky isn't aware of it, Brooklyn is in his voice, in the memories he shares with Steve.

"You want to bring him back," Natasha says quietly.

"Of course I do. Why do you think I'm here?"

"It's not healthy, this fixation on the past, no matter how much you want it to return. I know. I've tried."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Steve almost laughs. "Remember where I came from, 'Tasha. It's not the past I want to bring back. It's my future. Nothing is more important to me than having that future with the one person who can understand me, can share a life with me, can love me."

Natasha stops walking, and he realizes that they're standing in front of his building. "Do you want me to see Tony? Plead your cause?"

"So, you and Tony are suddenly best buds?" Steve can't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Sorry."

Natasha shakes her head. "I'm on your side. Yours and James's. Tony knows I've been through the Red Room training, he knows what they did to me, yet here I am." Her mouth curves. "He may not trust me, but it's because I'm … or was … S.H.I.E.L.D. It has nothing to do with my being under the influence of HYDRA."

"Here I thought it was because he was afraid of you."

She laughs, a surprisingly genuine reaction. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Since the day we met." Steve bends and kisses her cheek. "But I trust you with my life, so if you have anything to balance the scale in Buck's favor, we will both owe you."

"You don't want to be in my debt," Natasha says. "Someday you might have to pay up. I'll do it because I want to, not because of any promise of payment." The without a backward glance, she's gone, melting into a crowd of pedestrians effortlessly.

There is a small box in his mailbox with Swiss postage and an address that Steve recognizes as one of T'Challa's residences registered to an alias, Luke Charles, or in this case, Luc Charles. He takes the box upstairs and opens it on his kitchen counter. It's a cell phone with a note. _My friend, this is secure, one line only. To James_.

Steve's hands are shaken slightly as he presses the one number programmed into his contacts. On the second ring, Bucky's voice comes over the line. He sounds breathless. "Steve?"

"Hey, Buck.You sound like you've been running up a mountain."

"No mountain, just a big hill. The one behind the palace." Steve hears a sound like Bucky is dropping to the ground, he hears a soft groan, and figures he was right. "My stamina is shit," Bucky sighs. "So, how are things in the big city?"

"Hot. Crowded. It's Brooklyn."

"I wish I could be there."

"Me, too, Buck. Me, too." Steve takes a swallow of iced tea. "So, any thoughts about your arm?"

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About the arm just being a prosthetic. I think I want that. Not something I can take an army down with, but maybe one that I can pick up a glass of water with, pet a dog, hold your hand."

"I like the sound of that -- wait, pet a dog? You want a dog?"

He can hear the brief hesitation in Bucky's voice. "I was watching this program about dogs that are trained to help veterans with problems --panic attacks, stuff like that. Do you think …"

Steve smiles. "I think that's a great idea for both of us."

"Is there any news?"

"Not yet. As soon as there is, I'll be on the first flight out. Maybe meet in Paris, or anywhere you want."

"You don't have to go anywhere. I'll come to you in Brooklyn. That's the only place I want to be with you."

Steve takes a deep breath. "Until then … It's gonna be a long time."

Bucky chuckles. "Steve, babe. We've been waiting for seventy years to be together. A few weeks shouldn't seem like forever."

"It will feel like it." There is a silence between them, filled with longing and awareness of loss.

Bucky breaks the silence. "I gotta go Steve. T'Challa has me working out with his personal trainer. Dr. Kani thinks physical therapy will help restore something about neural pathways in my brain that HYDRA destroyed with programming."

"That's good, Buck. Real good. You take care of yourself."

"Oh, between T'Challa and and the docs, don't worry about me. You're the one who has to take care of yourself."

"I will." Steve promises. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be waiting."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Steve doesn't hear anything for days. He runs, visits museums, reads in coffee shops, because he can't concentrate in the silence of the apartment. He sketches, takes photos of his work, and hesitates over sending them to Bucky. The weather continues to be hot and humid and when Steve runs, even in early morning, the streets are nearly deserted. 

On the fifth day, he receives a text from Tony. _Go to Washington Square. A limo will be waiting. Don't ask._

Sometimes, Steve wishes Tony wouldn't be so _Tony._ He's tempted to ask questions just to be contrary, but with Bucky's future on the line, he doesn't. He dresses in khakis and a dark blue shirt. He feels like he should be wearing his stealth suit, but that's not who he is anymore. 

He takes a taxi to Washington Square and sits on a bench by the arch. He's not there for five minutes when a long black limousine pulls up and a driver wearing a black suit steps out and flashes a badge, "Captain Rogers."

Steve would argue the point, but he realizes that he may not be Captain America any longer, but his rank as plain Steve Rogers, is still in effect. The past is unalterable, but not inescapable, he hopes. "I'm Captain Rogers." He produces his own ID. Not that it's necessary. It's not like he's hiding who he is. 

The driver's mouth. quirks. "Sir, if you'll come with me." He comes around to the rear passenger door and opens it with a flourish. 

Steve hesitates just long enough for Tony to poke his head around the open door. "I won't bite, Cap."

Steve gets in without making a comment he'll regret. "Where are we going?"

"Short ride to LaGuardia and from there to D.C." As if it's the simplest thing in the world. 

"Somehow I missed the part about leaving New York."

"Somehow I missed mentioning that to you," Tony replies. "You seem a little tense, Cap. Want something to drink?"

Steve resists the temptation to roll his eyes. "Water is fine." To his surprise, Tony cracks open two bottles and passes one to Steve. 

"I swear I'm not handing you over to Pilate, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Of course, it's our AWOL Assassin." 

"He's not _our_ anything, Tony. His name is James Barnes, America's longest-held POW."

Tony holds up his hands. "Hey, I'm on your side. I'm the one who's seen those files. Just have to convince our illustrious Secretary of State and the Security Council of that."

"Hence, our trip to D.C." Steve drains his water bottle and crushes it with an ease that is almost, but not quite, a threat. He settles back in the seat and closes his eyes, avoiding further conversation with Tony. They have a truce, but it's uneasy and fragile. Steve really doesn't want to jeopardize any chance of reconciliation which is hard to do when you feel like you're on a cart to the gallows.

Tony's jet is waiting at LaGuardia and the flight to D.C. takes about as long as it does to get to altitude and descend. It's hotter in Washington and even more humid. Steve remembers days like this when he was with S.H.I.E.L.D., and immediately thinks how sad Peggy would be to know that the organization she founded and ran had been a bolt-hole for renegade HYDRA agents all along. It made him queasy. He looked out the window at the gap in the skyline left by the Triskelion. It was too damaged structurally to stand, and land in the capital was too valuable. Some new high rise would emerge to take its place and in fifteen years, it would be a ghost, just like the shadows of the WTC in New York. At least the victims of 9/11 had a memorial to honor them. Those who had died, thankfully not as many, in the Triskelion wouldn't even have that since nobody knew if they were traitors or patriots, enemies or friends. 

It was all so fucking sad. 

A limousine was waiting for them at the airport. It whisked them off to the private entrance to a government office building near the Capitol. They were escorted by beefy gentlemen in dark suits, Secret Service, Steve guessed, to the office of Thaddeus Ross, retired Major General, now Secretary of State. Ross, tall and commanding even in a suit, rose from behind his desk and greeted them in a voice that dripped acid. Steve realized that Ross wasn't any happier with Stark than Tony was with him. That shouldn't have been as reassuring as it was. 

"Gentlemen, have a seat."

"Welcome to DC, Mr. Stark, Captain."

Steve doesn't feel particularly welcome. "Thank you. I wish I could say it's a pleasure, but I'm a poor liar."

Ross bared his teeth in a smile. "Oh, I'd say you're an excellent liar when you need to be, Captain."

"And Here I thought we came to discuss the truth," Tony says rather curtly. He sits and raises an eyebrow at Steve. Steve is so tense he wonders if his knees will bend. He takes a seat, his back military straight. 

"To get the to matter at hand -- that is the disposition of the charges against James Buchanan Barnes, aka The Winter Soldier. Given the unique circumstances of his history, I am prepared to offer a plea bargain on behalf of the Attorney General --"

"Wait. You're offering Sergeant Barnes -- an innocent man, a prisoner of war and a decorated veteran -- a plea deal?" Steve's outrage brings him to his feet like an avenging angel. Ross almost recoils in the face of that righteous anger.

Oddly, it's Tony who steps in to break the current of tension. He touches Steve's arm. "Cap, let's hear what the man has to offer." He gives Steve an encouraging nod.

Steve knows Tony well enough to recognize an end game when he sees it. Still seething, he sits down. "What have you got to bring to the table?" he asks bitterly.

"Simply, we take the death penalty off the table if Barnes will tell us what he knows about HYDRA -- it's agents, secret bases, intel … and he consents to never have his cybernetic arm replaced. He gives us that, and we'll find a decent place to incarcerate him."

Before Steve can respond, Tony drops an inch-thick file on Ross' desk. "You might want to read this, first."

"What is this? Some apologetic crap about how sorry Barnes is for what he's done? Tony, he _murdered_ your parents, for God's sake!"

"No, the Winter Soldier murdered my parents. James Barnes had nothing to do with that, other than providing the physical shell that was HYDRA's weapon."

Ross laughs. "Tony, don't tell me you've been drinking that kool-aid. You can't believe that whole brainwashing story. Every scientist or doctor I've spoken with says that's not possible."

"And mild-mannered physicists don't turn into green rage monsters, super  
soldiers can't be made from 90 lb. weaklings, and aliens don't pass through portals in space. Brainwashing, which has been proved possible for _years_ doesn't exist? C'mon, Ross, don't even try that argument with me." Tony leans back in his chair. "I think you should read that file carefully." He waits for a moment before adding, "If you pursue charges against Sergeant Barnes, that information will go public. It doesn't reflect well on you, the UN, or the Intelligence community."

"We'll be at the Willard if you need to talk to us." He stands up and Steve isn't quite sure if he believes what happened. He walks away, his strides overtaking Tony's easily until they're walking next to each other. Neither of them speaks (a world record silence for Tony, he's sure) until they've checked into a palatial suite at the Willard. 

"Do you really believe what you told Ross? About Bucky?

"You still don't trust me? That's cold, Rogers." 

"Can you blame me? We nearly killed each other over the Winter Soldier. I know it can't be easy, Tony, but it really wasn't Bucky."

"I saw what those words did to him. I watched him fight the change and even though I didn't want to acknowledge that, I can't ignore it, not after reading those medical files. Which, you may have noticed I didn't question where they came from."

"It's better that you don't know. Not yet."

"So, room service?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Five thousand calories, Cap."

Steve sighs and relents as Tony orders two steak dinners and a salmon salad. "Pepper seems to want me around for a while," he shrugs. "I don't have super serum to remove plaque from my arteries as I sleep."

"I work out like any other guy," Steve argues amiably. 

"You're a glutton for punishment."

Their dinners arrive and Steve realizes he is starving. He's not sure when he last ate a full meal. As he sits with Tony across the small table from him, he thinks this is kind of nice, just two guys talking about the football game on TV, motorcycles, and the news. He tries to ignore the nagging undercurrent of Ross reading Bucky's files and the outcome of his knowledge. 

It's Tony who brings up the elephant in the room. "Was it worth it? This war between us?"

"I never thought of it as a war, or at least I never wanted it to become one. Was it worth it to you?"

Raw pain lances through Tony's eyes. "Only in principle. In reality, the cost was greater than I ever anticipated. When I total up the cost -- no, it wasn't worth it, but I stood up for what I believed."

"So did I."

"Where does that leave us?"

"Fractured, but healing?"

"The shield is yours if you want it."

Steve smiles and shakes his head. "You know, I never realized how heavy it was until I put it down. I'm not the man who should be carrying it, maybe I never was." He gets up from the table. "I need to buy some clothes since I didn't anticipate an overnight stay"

"Need company?"

The implication that he needs protection is actually quite humorous. "Tony, I can still take down six guys in less than two minutes, even without a shield. Ten guys … Might be a problem, but I can still outrun them. So, no. I don't need company. Thank you for offering."

"Fine. I don't want to get any phone calls that you're either in the hospital or in jail."

"Yes, Dad." Steve waggled his Stark phone at Tony and heads out.

The night is marginally cooler, but the atmosphere is heavy and still. There is lightning on the horizon. He ducks into a men's store and quickly purchases a change of clothes, while the clerk is in despair over Steve's impossible physique and the off-the-rack choices he makes Steve doesn't care as long as the khakis are the right length and the shirts aren't bursting at the shoulder seams. He adds socks, underwear, running clothes and shoes, and a light waterproof jacket. The total is staggering, but he has money to spend. His hand lingers on a pale blue cashmere sweater. It would look amazing on Bucky, so on an impulse, he adds it to his purchases. 

He lopes back to the Willard as thunder rumbles closer and makes it inside just as the skies open up. As he passes the hotel bar, he hears Tony's voice. He looks in and sees Tony holding court with several members of congress. He goes up to the room and takes the smaller room for his own. Even so, it has a private bath and a small sitting area. There's a TV, but Steve is tired of the news, tired of people telling him what he should think. He wonders how long it will take Ross to read and analyze the files. 

The thought makes his stomach churn, and he's suddenly envious of Tony for being able to quiet his nerves with alcohol. With an exasperated sigh, he changes into his tracksuit and goes out for a run around the Tidal Basin and the Mall. After five circuits, he pauses and goes up the steps to the Lincoln Memorial The iconic statue looks down on him with grave compassion, and Steve can't help thinking that Lincoln would have understood and pardoned Bucky. He sits on the steps and rests his head in his hands. 

"Hey, man. Are you okay?"

Steve looks up at the man standing in front of him. He's thin and the sleeve of his jacket is pinned up. He's not Bucky, but he could be. Steve takes in his wet clothes, his worn out boots and ragged jeans. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"So I don't have to call anybody?

Steve smiles. "No." He stands up. "Thanks. Are you a vet?"

"A tiger sure didn't chew off my arm," the guy jokes, and Steve can almost hear Bucky's voice. 

Thunder rumbles again as a new storm is forming on the horizon. "Listen, there's a decent shelter a couple blocks that way. You should go. Get out of the rain."

"Nah, I don't do too well in close spaces."

Steve nods. "They have a 24/7 kitchen. Food's pretty good and it's on Uncle Sam's dollar."

The guy smiles, "Thanks. I could eat." His eyes narrow. "Holy shit. You're Captain America."

"I'm just Steve Rogers."

"You're a hero, Cap. Just 'cause you don't have that shield doesn't change that." He salutes. "See ya around." He ambles off in the direction of the shelter and Steve returns to the Willard. He strips, showers and crawls into bed, listening to the thunder and the rain on the window. In five minutes, he's asleep. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
He's awake when Tony knocks on the door; the light coming from the window shows it's barely dawn. It's too early for Tony to be social, so that means he must have heard from Ross.

He opens the door to a heavy-eyed and slightly hung over Stark. "Did Ross call? He asks, waiting for the answer. Tony shoves a cup of coffee into his hands and takes a swallow of his own. 

"Nine o'clock with Ross and a representative from the UN."

"Two people and one against us from the get go? Those aren't great odds, Tony."

"I could say something ridiculously trite, but I don't think it will help. On the other hand, breakfast might." He opens the door for room service. Steve, fighting his nausea and nerves, forces himself to eat, and feels better for it. By the time they're dressed and in the limo, he's ready to fight for Bucky's life.

Ross and the representative from the UN, a grim faced woman who Steve doesn't know, are waiting, the file on the desk in front of them. A stenographer sits in the corner, and Steve wonders if this hearing is more official than they've been led to believe. Ross speaks first. "Gentleman, This is Dr. Irina Dubrov, medical consultant on empowered humans and an expert on the Red Room and HYDRA enhanced soldiers."

Steve wants to object to having a Russian consultant from the UN committee but before he can open his mouth, Tony smoothly cuts him off. "Doctor, thank you for being here."

Ross takes a breath. "I've taken the liberty of showing Doctor Dubrov the Winter Soldier files as well as the medical files on Sergeant Barnes. Doctor, if you care to offer your opinion?

Her voice is low and soft despite her grim appearance. "The evidence of physical torture, long-term and ongoing during his years of captivity is irrefutable. The grafting of metal on bone … " She shakes her head. "The pain must have been unbearable until his muscles were developed enough to support the weight. His brain shows signs of repeated trauma. The scarring is extensive, particularly in the area of the brain where memory is stored. The result of repeated electroshock procedures, of being in and out of cryostasis, of being reprogrammed -- it is no wonder that he has so little self-awareness or agency. Without those faculties, it is my opinion, based on these records, that James Barnes cannot be held responsible for his actions as the Winter Soldier."

Ross doesn't looked pleased. "How about the triggers implanted by HYDRA?"

"Looking at his medical records and the video evidence provided, I believe those triggers have been removed. I see no reason why James Barnes shouldn't cleared of all charges against him and released to the custody of Captain Rogers."

"Custody?" Steve is taken aback by that. "Why?"

"You are the only person who can take him down if those triggers or a deeper one haven't been removed." Ross says bluntly. 

Dr. Dubrov shakes her head. "As true as that might be, it is more important that James have time to heal, to acclimate to society and his role as a human being in this century. I can't think of anybody more suited to guide him than yourself, Captain Rogers."

"Dr. Dubrov, will you testify to that in front of Congress?" Tony asks,

Ross says somewhat stonily. "This has been live streamed to the House and Senate as well as the Attorney General. I expect to hear from them regarding the disposition of Sergeant Barnes."

Steve, despite feeling that Ross took unfair advantage by not informing them that they were on the record, can't help being relieved and grateful. He stands and offers his hand to Dr. Dubrov. "Thank you, Doctor." 

She rises, clasps his hand and speaks warmly. "Captain, I hope Sergeant Barnes continues his recovery. He has been through more than any human should have to endure." She turns to Ross. "Perhaps this is not what you hoped to hear, but it is my professional opinion. If there are any questions regarding my diagnosis, you know where my office is." She leaves, her head held high, her spine straight.

Ross gives Tony a sour look. "He _murdered_ your parents, Tony. He's a cold-blooded assassin. Surely, you'll fight this."

Tony's laser gaze fixes on Ross. "Thaddeus, you've known me for most of my life. If I were going to fight Dr. Dubrow's assessment, I would be on my phone right now. But the truth is, I believe her. I believe James Barnes is innocent. I believe the Winter Soldier is guilty as hell, but he's gone. As good as dead according to those files. And you know what? I'm tired of being angry. It's counterproductive. I've got a life to live, and I'm sure Captain Rogers and James Barnes would like to find some normalcy. Tell any dissenters in Congress and the AG's office that. I'll be in New York if you really need to talk to me, but I can't think of a single reason I'd want to talk to you."

Steve follows Tony from the office. He doesn't know whether to cry or just hug Tony. He pauses and wipes his eyes. Tony looks back at him. "I know alcohol doesn't affect you, but if you want to join me, I need a drink."

"How long before we get the official word?"

"I have no idea." They walk back to the Willard. Tony heads for the bar. "You coming?"

Steve really doesn't need a drink, but to refuse after all Tony has done seems petty. They sit at the bar. Tony orders a Scotch, Steve, a beer. They don't say much, but at least they're not at each other's throats like they would have been six months ago. The silence is broken by the chime of Tony's phone. He looks at the text. Then at Steve. "Put on CNN," he tells the bartender. It must be a frequent request, judging from the quick reaction. 

A severe-faced newscaster appears on the screen. Ross is coming out on to the Capitol steps, followed by Dr. Dubrov, the Secretary of Defense, the Director of the CIA, members of the Senate select subcommittee on Intelligence, and a representative from the World Court at The Hague. Steve has to consciously put his glass down lest he crush it in his grip. 

_This is Richard Beardon with breaking news on the controversial Winter Soldier investigation. We're waiting to hear the decision regarding whether or not Sergeant James Barnes will be held accountable for the atrocities committed by his purported alias, the Winter Soldier. Sergeant Barnes has been in seclusion in an unknown location since the events leading to the apprehension of Baron Zemo. Falsely accused of setting off the bomb that resulted in the death of the late King of Wakanda, supporters of Sergeant Barnes have long held that due to his seventy years in captivity, torture and brainwashing, that -- It looks like the Secretary of State is about to make a statement._

Ross steps up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the select committee investigating the case of Sergeant James Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, has reached its decision. It has been a difficult six months but recent developments, which I am not authorized to reveal, have led to this decision. The members of the committee, myself, Dr. Irina Dubrov, the Director of the CIA, members of the Senate and Dr. Klaus Tenbroek of the World Court, have debated long and hard, at time disagreeing on very salient points, but in the end, we've agreed. We find that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is a separate human entity from the Winter Soldier and is not responsible for the actions of the latter. Therefore, we decline to pursue charges against Sergeant Barnes. The World Court, likewise, will not prosecute Sergeant Barnes for war crimes. Additionally, the current King of Wakanda offers his support of this decision. Sergeant Barnes is a free man in the eyes of this committee and in the eyes of the world. The White House will hold a press briefing in an hour to answer any questions. Thank you."

Steve doesn't care about the cacophony of questions, about the look on Ross's face now that he's lost, the drone of the commentator's voices. All he knows is that Bucky is free to come home. 

Tony downs his scotch in one swallow. "I'm happy for you, Steve." He sounds bitter, and Steve can't blame him; he knows Tony isn't ready to absolve Bucky. He may never be able to forgive him, but maybe some time, he'll come to understand what Bucky has been through. 

"Thank you. I'm sorry, Tony, but also very grateful for your help. Why did you do it?"

"Maybe because we have something in common. We both hate bullies, and HYDRA is the biggest bully of them all. Listen, I don't know if Barnes could have stopped the Soldier from killing my parents or if some damn device they implanted would have blown him to bits if he hesitated -- "

"If Bucky could have stopped himself from killing, he would have. Even at the cost of his own life."

"He saved you." 

"Your parents died in 1991, Tony. Bucky had been broken and wiped so many times that his programming was breaking down by the time Pierce got hold of him. You saw the brain scans -- there are parts of him that are just gone. I was the last little bit of his past he clung to because --" Steve stops speaking, his eyes blurring with tears. "I'm sorry."

"Because he loved you," Tony finishes for him. "He still loves you."

Steve nods, unable to say the words. His phone vibrates in his pocket. The phone from Wakanda. "I- I have to take this." He nearly runs from the bar. He's alone in the elevator when he answers. "Bucky?"

"It is T'Challa," the amusement in the king's voice is the only thing that keeps Steve from flying into a million pieces of anxiety. "I watched the news conference with James. Needless to say his first instinct was to run and pack up for a flight to New York. I was able to convince him to wait until tomorrow."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Of course. At the moment he is with Dr. Kani for one last check-up and scan. Do not be alarmed. He asked for the scan. He has had one every other day and all is well -- in fact better than that. You will be pleased at his progress."

"He'll need a passport."

"He has one issued by the Wakandan Department of State. He seems unsure of his status with the United States. He is welcome to be a citizen of Wakanda if he so chooses."

"Wow, that's just … hold on, I have to open the door." Steve makes his way to the couch on unsteady legs, finally collapsing against the cushions. "Sorry, I'm kind of overwhelmed."

"That is understandable. You have been through much over the last months. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you and James have come through this storm. I wish you much peace."

"I don't know how to thank you, T'Challa. Your generosity is beyond repayment."

"Never believe that, my friend. In this world, I may need your friendship more than you can imagine. Someday, I may call on you for aid."

"We'll be there. But you do know I'm not Captain America, just plain Steve Rogers? The shield and honor will go go somebody else."

T'Challa chuckles. "I believe we can make another shield for you if it is needed."

"I hope it won't be needed," Steve says fervently. "I'd like some peace in my life and so would Bucky. We've been soldiers for too long."

"Ah, here is James. Goodbye, Steven."

There is a moment of silence, then Bucky is on the phone, sounding breathless and hopeful. "Stevie?"

"How does it feel to be a free man?" Steve's heart is pounding and he can't seem to breath right.

"Is it real?"

"It's real."

"I want to come home -- to Brooklyn and you."

"Brooklyn and I aren't going anywhere without you. Come home, Buck. Just come home."

"I'll be on my way the first thing in the morning. Flying west, I should be there … Hell," he laughs. "I don't know. My brain can't figure that one out. I'll text."

"I love you, Buck."

"Love you, too, Stevie." He hangs up and a minute later, Steve's phone pings. Bucky's smiling face looks out from a selfie and Steve laughs. He sits, cradling the phone in his hands and looking at the picture. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Bucky returns to Brooklyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! What I intended to be a quick fix-it for the heart-rending mid-credit scene in _Civil War_ turned into a semi-epic that took all summer to write!
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting. You've kept me writing even when inspiration left me high and dry. 
> 
> There are no specific warnings for this chapter other than for some sexy times in the epilogue. I've left the question of Bucky's prosthesis open in this story. 
> 
> I will happily write more in this version of a fix-it, since Bucky and Steve getting a therapy dog is just too much cute to write in this story, and at some point, Bucky will get a spiffy new arm to bring him into the Avengers, but again ... another story for another time. 
> 
> NOTE: This is my version of a HEA for now. We'll have to wait and see what happens with _Black Panther_ and _Infinity War_ to see what the future holds for our heroes.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Steve doesn't sleep much. He spends the day making up the bed in the spare room just in case Bucky needs to a space to be alone, because there are times when Steve needs downtime to process and decompress. He goes to the store and stands staring at the shelves, because he has no idea what to buy or what Bucky likes. Steve thinks about his first trip to a grocery store, how he'd hyperventilated until Natasha talked him down from his panic attack. He can't ...won't… do that to Bucky. There are plenty of convenience stores, bodegas and open air markets. Bucky had shopped in those in Bucharest. He'd probably prefer that. So, instead of stressing over what to buy, he stocks up on milk, basic cereal, bread, fresh fruits and vegetables, sliced turkey and some pasta and sauce. He buys a selection of teas recommended by Bruce. And leaves it at that. He's no sooner through the door when his phone plays "The Itsey-Bitsey Spider." Steve drops the bags on the counter and answers.

"Natasha?"

"Are you home?"

"I am now. Why?"

"Got something for you."

"I'm waiting for Buck to call."

"It will just take a minute."

"If Bucky calls …"

"Steve, I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't go anywhere."

Steve collapses on his couch. His skin feels too tight, as if it can't contain his nerves. He'd go for a run, but he's promised Natasha he'd be at home. He wondered what she was bringing … some strange Russian delicacy, or pastry. Not vodka, since neither he nor Bucky can drink enough to have any effect. He sighs, pulls out his phone and calls Sam.

"I hope this is important, Steve. I'm driving to my mom's for Sunday dinner, and you know how mama gets when I'm late."

"It will only take a minute. Who do I see about getting a therapy dog?"

"Call me tomorrow. I'll have some answers for you. Didn't think you needed one -- a dog."

"Buck saw a documentary. He was interested. God, Sam, if anybody's ever needed a therapy dog … after everything he's been through. Just find out what you can for me."

"Sure thing. You doin' okay? You sound a little … fraught."

Steve has to laugh. He can't deny it. "Yeah, I am a little wound up. I don't like waiting." There's a knock on his door. "Natasha's here. Talk to you later. Thanks, Sam."

"Dude, you called me."

Another more insistent knock, and Steve gathers himself. "Be right there, Natasha. Sam, gotta go before she shoots the locks off." He hears Sam laughing as he disconnects.

He opens the door expecting a pissed off Natasha, but instead … "Bucky?" He blinks like he's clearing sleep from his eyes. "Buck?"

Bucky's smiling, his eyes are a clear, crystalline blue-gray, dancing with laughter. "Are you gonna leave me standing out here, Stevie?"

"No! Hell, no." He draws Bucky into the apartment. "But where's Natasha? How did you get here?" He can't let go of Bucky's hand. 

Bucky looks behind him and shrugs. "Guess Tasha decided to let us catch up."

"But … how did you get here and why didn't you call me?" He sounds like a lovesick teenager, but honestly, he almost is. He can't stop staring at Bucky.

"I called her. I figured the airport was a little too public a place for us to meet up." He steps inside, sets down his duffle bag and pulls Steve closer. "I mean, I couldn't do this … " He wraps his arm around Steve's waist and leans in for a kiss. "Not in public. But here … " He kisses Steve, his lips soft and lingering. "Missed you." He pulls back, giving Steve time to catch his breath.. "So, this is your place, huh?" He looks around, taking in the living room, which still looks like a generic model suite, not a place which Steve has owned for several years. It's kind of embarrassing in its anonymity.

Steve blushes. "It's not a palace, it's not like Tony's mansion. It's just --"

"Hey, it's fine, Stevie. I'm just a mook from Brooklyn. I don't need no mansion or palace." The accent is familiar, but the voice is older, sadder. "Never did. The best sleep I ever got was on the couch cushions we pulled off your old sofa." He carries his duffel over to the sofa and falls back on the cushions with a weary sigh. "It's fine. Real comfortable." He raises an eyebrow, extending an invitation to Steve to join him. 

Steve sighs because Bucky seems a little _off_ , like he's trying too hard to be the boy Steve remembers, not the man he's become, with scars and secrets and haunting memories. "You don't have to do this," he says softly. "Pretend that nothing's changed after everything we've been through." He sits next to Bucky, on the left where Bucky's sleeve is empty. He rests his hand on the cushions between them. 

Bucky's eyes flit to his, then away. "T'Challa offered to have his team work on a new arm." He takes a breath. "I told him I would think about it. I'm not ready. I don't want to be a weapon for anybody." He pulls off his hoodie and the t-shirt beneath it. "They cleaned it up, replaced the cap with this … You can touch it," he says softly, but doesn't let his eyes meet Steve's. 

Steve touches the stump which is now covered with a flesh-colored synthetic. He expects it to be cool, but it's warm and feels almost alive, like skin. It extends from the stump to the metal seam where the old prosthetic had been attached. It softens some of the scars, but doesn't hide them completely. Steve runs his hand over the synthetic, over the metal, and lingers on Bucky's skin, soft as silk and almost luminous. Bucky always had the most beautiful skin; he still does. 

Steve touches his lips to the vein throbbing above Bucky's collarbone. "I don't care if you ever get a prosthetic. It's your decision. Your choice. _Your_ body. You don't belong to me, or the Avengers, or anybody else."

"Hell, Stevie. I always belonged to you." A faint smile curves Bucky's lips. 

Steve shakes his head. "I don't own you, I never did. I never will. But I will love you, and keep you safe, and support you in whatever you want to do with your life, because it's _your_ life. You deserve the right to live it however you want."

Bucky does look at him, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. "I want to live it with you, Stevie. I want those years back that we lost. I don't know if I can have that."

"Not those years," Steve manages to whisper, "but all the years to come, if that's what you want."

"What about you?"

Steve doesn't bother to wipe the tears from his face. "I want you, Buck. You're all I've ever wanted from back in Brooklyn, to finding you were alive, and all the years in-between. I thought I'd find you when I flew that plane into the ice and breathed my last breath, and then I woke up here and alone until that day on the bridge." 

"I didn't know who you were; just that you looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"I thought I had," Steve laughs ruefully. "I'm really glad I didn't."

Bucky reaches across the take Steve's hand. "Only you would go chasing after a ghost. Even now you're still a combative, stubborn punk." He leans in, kisses Steve, his lips lingering and sweet. 

The feel of Bucky warm and solid and _alive,_ in his arms is the peace he's been seeking since waking up from his long sleep. "Welcome home, Buck," he sighs, "Welcome home."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
_Epilogue: Three Months Later_

Steve is awakened by a band of sunlight creeping across his eyelids. He turns his head to avoid it. Next to him, Bucky's body is warm and relaxed, his breathing quiet. Steve wants to doze longer, but as always, he opens his eyes to look at Bucky, marveling that he's here in his bed, something he'd thought he'd lost forever. 

There have been changes in the last three months; many of them positive. Sure, there are rough spots -- episodes of panic, a lingering reluctance to leave the apartment, nightmares. Not that Steve doesn't have enough of his own. Bucky seems to know when he's more prone to them and on those nights, he sleeps in the spare room. In the morning, Steve will find the bed rumpled and Bucky sitting on the couch, trying not to shake apart. But the _Soldat_ has never once surfaced, and he's never made a move to harm Steve in any way. The more time passes, the more secure he is in his identity as James Buchanan Barnes. Steve finds this new Bucky intriguing. He misses the old Brooklyn Bucky, but he's in love with the man sleeping next to him. 

Bucky moves in his sleep, a tendril of dark hair sliding across his forehead. Steve brushes it aside. Bucky's hair is longer now; not as long as it had been, and certainly better cut. It's long enough for Steve to enjoy combing through his fingers. When he does, Bucky burrows into Steve's big hands like a cat seeking pets. He's becoming more at ease with his body; to not being coiled like a weapon, but long and lean and graceful. Natasha has taken him to karate classes, and Steve can't help watching as he moves through his _katas_. He's so stunningly beautiful in motion that Steve is spellbound, itching to draw him in the poses. 

Bucky opens his eyes and smiles. Forget the sun; Bucky's smile is what lights Steve's world. "Morning."

"Morning, Buck." Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's waist. Bucky moves closer, and Steve can feel his cock, hard with a morning erection, brushing against his own. "Somebody's awake," he murmurs as he kisses the corner of Bucky's mouth. 

Bucky stretches and Steve's mouth goes dry at the sight of so much honed muscle and silky skin exposed by the sheets Bucky has shoved aside. His cock is flushed, a small bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip. Steve sighs and kisses his way down Bucky's torso, tongues his navel, making Bucky squirm, before lapping the fluid away and taking him deep. Bucky hums his approval. It's enough to chase away any thoughts Steve had of going back to sleep. Bucky's hand scritches softly across Steve's back, brushes the short hairs at his neck. He moves his hips, fucking into Steve's mouth. He reaches between them, taking Steve in his hand. 

"So warm," he sighs. "So hard and soft and perfect." 

"Stop talking. You're distracting me," Steve says and using his own spit and the semen leaking from Bucky's cock, he slicks up his fingers and works them into Bucky's hole. He takes his time, prepping Bucky with his fingers and pausing to soften him up with his tongue. Bucky's body tenses and bows as Steve takes him in hand, twisting his wrist just so … Bucky comes hard, with a deep guttural cry. Steve slides into Bucky easily. He's so aroused that it takes only a few hard thrusts for his own orgasm to overwhelm him. When he comes back to reality his cheeks are wet, not with sweat but with tears. 

Beneath him, Bucky looks a little dazzled; his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed and his hair fanning across the pillow. Steve blinks away his tears. "I could do this for the next seventy years and it would still be amazing."

Bucky's smile is wistful. "D'you think we'll have seventy years?"

"I'm never, ever losing you again."

"To the end of the line," Bucky says and lays Steve's hand over his heart. 

"To the end of the line," Steve repeats, feeling Bucky's heart beating strong and steady against his palm. They kiss gently. Steve's almost ready to drift back to sleep when his phone chimes with his wake up alarm. "Sorry, Buck. We have to get up,"

Bucky frowns. "Why?"

"Because today we've got big things to do. Sam's waiting for us at Pets for Vets. Time to meet our puppy."

Bucky's eyes light up. He's been waiting for this day for weeks. "Race you to the shower!"

Steve laughs as he gets out of bed. "There's room for two, you know." 

"Somebody's got to make coffee or this day ain't happening," 

"It's a good thing I love you so much," Steve says. He goes into the kitchen, hits the button on his coffeemaker and still has time to get in the shower. He's ready to let the past fall away, he can't foresee the future, but today? Today is perfection. 

**The End**


End file.
